


If Nothing Happens

by vinylcherry



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, introspective, lots of uhm self-doubt and yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinylcherry/pseuds/vinylcherry
Summary: Ten and Kun meet in a smoky haze on New Year’s Eve. It was never supposed to mean anything - just two bodies, two strangers. But then Kun shows up to class on Monday morning, and as the cold winter months make way for the early days of summer, everything changes.





	1. Hook, Line and Sinker

**Author's Note:**

> “_I’m not scared of evil in the caverns_  
_I’m not scared of judgement and the gates_  
_What I’m scared of is that nothing happens_  
_That my life, my mind, and my memories just fade away“_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** brief mentions of vomit, semi-public sex, praise kink

**[31st December]**

The universe must be busy tonight. But right here, it all seems so quiet. 

It’s a cold evening. The night sky is clear and open in the suburbs, far away from inner city suffocation. A thin layer of snow glistens under Ten’s boots as they shuffle along with a haste to their step from the bite of the cold. As they get closer to their destination, the noise escaping from a dingy house at the end of the street betrays the sleepy lull of the neighborhood. 

If it weren’t for Taeyong whining for days about it, Ten would be boarded up in his bedroom right now, wallowing in self-pity. He hates New Years. Really. Something about the change of seasons always puts him in the wrong mood for days on end. 

The mind numbing bass line of a Kid Milli song reaches them by the gate. It’s too packed with people inside for anyone to notice them slipping in through the front door. The music is too loud even out in the hallway, and the smell of cigarette smoke hangs heavy and sour in the air. Inside, the mass of sweaty bodies moves like a single organism, shifting as one to the beat of the music, moving constellations of kaleidoscopic blues lighting up unfamiliar faces in the dark.

Part of Ten wants to worry about not knowing the crowd, but they’re both buzzed already - Taeyong a little more so. And maybe being a stranger among strangers will make him forget the bone deep dread at the back of his mind, even just for a little while. Besides, Ten was only dragged to this place because of the guy Taeyong’s been seeing. It’s just that type of night. It’s implied. Has been implied. 

Taeyong is leaning too heavily into his side with that one dumb, toothy smile, the one he always wears when he’s beyond tipsy. Ten leads him through the crowd with a firm arm around his waist. 

’We need to get some water in you,’ he tells him, having to shout in Taeyong’s ear to make himself heard over the music.

Taeyong makes a face that’s somewhere between guilt and childlike defiance. ‘I feel fine, really.’ 

‘Yeah, right now maybe. But I’m not gonna play babysitter all night with you puking your guts out in some stranger’s shower.’ 

’He’s not a stranger,’ Taeyong whines as they stumble into the kitchen, and then his eyes light up like a kid’s on Christmas. ‘Yuta!’

Taeyong hasn’t talked a lot about Yuta, which is strange, because Taeyong sees a lot of people, and he talks about nearly everything with Ten. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing, Ten isn’t sure yet. 

Yuta greets them with a gummy smile as soon as he sees Taeyong. The couple gravitate toward each other so naturally that Ten has to look away when Yuta hooks a finger through Taeyong’s belt loops and pulls him in by the waist. 

They’ve never met before, but all Yuta gives Ten is intense eye contact and a weirder nod, which must be dudebro code for something. Taeyong leans in - and yeah, Ten is not staying to watch his best friend suck face with some stranger. A stranger in a bucket hat nonetheless, which should be red flag number one. 

Ten takes that as his queue to scavenge the kitchen and pour himself a drink. It must be some kind of record - one minute in and his best friend is already off on his own. Ten, East Coast’s best wingman, most miserable third wheel in the world.

And still. He doesn’t mind. 

The Bacardi tastes sickly of vanilla but still burns in his throat. It must be a combination case - his festive apathy and the alcohol fizzling into the meds in his bloodstream, because there’s a restlessness under his skin like static. It feels like an itch for something he can’t put his finger on yet. Anything, as long as it hurts good. 

Those are the ones that feel the best, after all. The out of nowhere, morality of the moment type choices. And it’s really not that strange anyway. In a sea of warm bodies and liquor like battery acid, everyone is rushing to fit in as many Budweiser-induced fuckups as possible before the year is over. Because you might as well, because it doesn’t really matter in the hours in between. So who’s to say then, if it’s a seasonal or pathological itch. 

Ten makes a gagging sound and pushes past the couple on his way out. There’s a small gathering of people huddled together on the sofas in the other room, talking and laughing, others waiting for a whiff of fresh air on the balcony, but Ten isn’t in a mood to talk. Instead, he follows the source of the music. 

Dancing is the time and place where he feels most at peace. Whatever worries that weigh him down seem to dissolve when melody and movement become one; physicality overpowering mentality. No worries, just flow. Ten dances with himself, dances with a stranger or two, dances with any friendly smile tonight. 

There’s one in particular - he doesn’t see it immediately, too lost in the heat and glitter of the dancefloor, but he can _feel_ it. Something draws him to look then, past everyone else and across the room. Among the guys and girls sat down on the sofas in the far corner, there’s an odd one out who seems less occupied with socialising, and more on watching Ten. 

He’s sat wide legged, resting the drink on his knee between sips. There’s a trace of a smile, or perhaps Ten is just an exhibitionist and sick for the attention. He’s too short-sighted to see clearly - but the guy is cute. More than anything though, it’s a gut feeling. It’s a game of cat and mouse that he’s played countless times before, but the chase never gets old. 

And so Ten dances, purposefully now. He breathes through the beat, sensually twisting and turning, being watched, watching back. It should be easy - it always is - but as one song ends, and then another one, the stranger still hasn’t made a move yet. 

Ten slips out between songs, ego bruised and tail between his legs. 

He needs more Bacardi, and to piss. 

It happens too quickly to register. Ten steps out into the corridor, and something hits him hard in the side. The glass flies right out of his hand, drink spilling all over his white t-shirt, and a dark figure stumbles to the floor.

A whirlwind of fliers fall out of the assailant’s hands and loiter all over the floor. Ten can only make out some things in the dim light: crayon drawings of the Earth, and bold print slogans calling to action; ‘Save the Planet’, ’No Pasaran’, ’Protect Our Whales’. The stranger scrambles to stand up and Ten notices the youthful scrawniness of his face. He looks way too young to be there. 

‘Renjun!’ a voice shouts from out of sight. ’I told you guys to stay in your room!’ 

’You will _not_ put us in a box!’ the kid shouts back. Before Ten can say anything, he runs off just as sudden as he had appeared. 

’What the fuck,’ Ten mumbles under his breath. 

‘You okay?’ the faceless voice asks. A hand on his shoulder - and Ten turns to face the most stupidly handsome boy he’s ever seen. 

The product swept through his honey blonde hair gleams under the moving lights, giving it an almost wet look. It’s parted slightly and swept backwards, with the exception of a few straggling strands of hair which bounce playfully across his forehead. His features are soft and warm, and in between the concerned head tilt and the dark eyes meeting his, Ten feels like he should get down on his knees and pray. 

‘Never been better,’ he decides, although something about the feeling of a soaked shirt sticking to his stomach leaves him feeling short of sexy. ’Kinda need to wash this off though,’ he says and gestures to his chest. 

’Oh, the water isn’t running in the bathroom. I swear it happens everytime.’

The boy says it with a smile, and Ten laughs along as if he let him in on some scandalous secret between the two of them. Talking about plumbing shouldn’t be hot, but he seeks out Ten’s eyes so intensely when he speaks, gaze never faltering, that Ten can’t help but be pulled in.

’I’m Kun by the way.’

‘Nice to meet you Kun. I’m Ten,’ he smiles sweetly.

Kun eyes him, unashamed. And that’s when Ten recognises it - the lingering gaze, the electric charge in the air - Kun followed him here. 

It makes him feel drunk on power.

’Kun, you seem like a helpful guy. Do you mind taking me somewhere else I can get this off?’ Ten asks, pouting at the darkening mess on his white t-shirt. 

It’s bold, even for him. Kun says nothing for a split second, a beat passing between them, but that’s all the confirmation Ten needs to know. 

’There’s a second bathroom upstairs which still works,’ Kun says, nodding over his shoulder. ‘I can show you, if you promise not to tell anyone else.’

’That’s alright. I don’t kiss and tell.’

’Who said anything about kissing?’ 

The place belongs to Johnny Suh, esteemed middle man and friend twice removed of every college freshman on campus. Ten met him at another party once, where Johnny paid for a cab home for Ten after he drunkenly lost his phone. Everyone likes Johnny Suh, that’s just how the world functions. 

It feels voyeuristic almost then, to see the family photos on the walls. The faded smiles caught in time distract Ten long enough that Kun reappears out of nowhere with a fresh cotton shirt.

’Are we both stealing and trespassing now?’ Ten asks when Kun hands it to him. 

Kun snorts. ’Don’t worry about it. I’m good friends with both Johnny and his brother,’ he assures him. ’Just give it back sometime.’

It’s crazy, crazy enough for a night like this. Ten looks at Kun and laughs. ’Sure boss,’ he shrugs. Who cares if it’s true. 

Thankfully the running water is real, turns out. Kun leans against the bathroom wall, giving Ten space to wash off. But it feels pointless, he realises, to lean over and make the mess messier. Kun watches him in the mirror, saying nothing. There it is again. Ten yanks the sticky shirt over his head, letting it fall into the sink. Kun doesn’t look away. 

‘I don’t think I’ve seen you before,’ Ten muses. ‘What brings you tonight?’ He scrubs soap into the stain but it won’t go, so he gives up and grabs the clean one. It’s an oversized band t-shirt, but it works. 

‘Obligations,’ Kun states. ‘I’m the designated driver tonight.’ It sounds like a partial truth, which is worrying.

‘You taking your boyfriend home?’ Ten asks coyly, eyes trained on fixing his hair in the mirror. 

Kun laughs - and it’s a good laugh. ‘God, fuck no. I’m looking after my cousin. It’s his first real New Years party and I bet him 20 dollars that he would be projectile vomiting by the end of the night.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Yeah. The kid is crazy,’ Kun sighs deeply. 

Ten turns around and faces him. ‘No, I was just hoping you’d take me home,’ he says and shrugs. ‘It’s a shame you’re busy.’

Ten’s lower back hits the edge of the sink hard before he gets to finish speaking as Kun backs him up in a swift motion. He’s so close now that Ten can smell the cinnamon of his aftershave, see the little moles that graze his right eye. 

’We don’t need to go anywhere when I can just fuck you right here,’ Kun says with faux confusion, boxing him in, and Ten forgets to breathe. 

He only has to shift forward the slightest to press his lips to Kun’s mouth. Kun’s lips are soft and slick, and he tastes sweet like soda. It’s hot and messy, both too eager to pretend it’s anything else. 

Kun caresses the back of his neck with a warm hand, angling Ten’s head just right to ease his mouth open, tasting him. Ten keens into his touch, kissing him like it’s the last he’ll ever have, grabbing desperately at Kun’s shirt. Kun breaks away, breath hot against his. ‘Kiss me,’ Ten mumbles, but Kun shakes his head.

He presses further against him, angling a knee between Ten’s open legs to grind against. Kun plants a kiss to the side of Ten’s mouth, and then Ten feels his breath travel downwards, Kun pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw and neck. It’s overwhelming. Kun begins to suck a mark to the skin in the crook of his neck, tongue and teeth all at once, and Ten can’t help but moan. 

It’s stupid really, because they’re not teenagers anymore. But it feels easy with Kun. He’s a stranger, and yet Kun doesn’t feel unfamiliar. His body mirrors Ten’s everytime he moves like a snake, like the cells under Ten’s fingertips remembers something that he doesn’t. 

Ten drags his nails down Kun’s nape when he bites too hard. ‘I really want you.’

Kun kisses the bruise, then emerges slowly to face him at eye level. ‘Okay,’ he mumbles, kissing Ten once more. ‘But, uh, I don’t have lube.’

Ten blinks. ‘Oh. Well, let’s just search the cabinets.’ 

They untangle from one another awkwardly.

Kun opens the overhead cabinet and picks out an unidentified tube, squinting at the label before carefully putting it back in its original place. Ten hunches over to search the lower cabinets beneath the sink. He rifles through bottles of lotion and toothpaste with no luck, facemasks, scrubs, dental floss and hair gel containers loudly tumbling over like domino pieces. 

‘There must be lube somewhere in here. Two teenage boys live in this house, what else are they supposed to do?’ Ten says, mostly to himself. 

‘Ugh, don’t say that. I don’t wanna be thinking about Mark when I’m boning you,’ Kun grimaces. 

Ten laughs, high in his throat. There - finally, a nondescript bottle of lube hiding in the back. He grabs it and throws it at Kun, who catches in surprise. ‘Do you always talk about other people when you hook up?’ Ten teases him, head tilted as he steps into Kun’s space. 

Kun raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you always this annoying?’ 

‘Yes,’ Ten says and kisses him. 

Kun hums into the kiss as Ten palms him through his dress pants, ‘Good thing you’re so pretty then.’ 

Ten unfastens the zipper and slides his hand in, slender fingers pressing against the outline of Kun’s bulge, full and stiff under his palm. He eyes Kun as he slides down to his knees, gently tugging at the waistband until Kun’s erection swings free. He’s almost fully hard already, and Ten nearly salivates at the sight of it, swollen and curved against his stomach. Kun - perhaps sensing his wide eyed surprise - chuckles softly, guiding him forward with a hand in his hair. 

Ten licks long stripes up the underside before using his hands to jerk him off, slowly and slick with spit. He laps at the precum on the head and swallows Kun down for a moment, shallow but tight around his lips, if only just to tease. He looks up as he strokes him to full hardness and Kun bucks into his hands, chasing the feeling. Ten has always loved this part. Loves when they love it, loves being able to tell. 

‘Stop, stop-’ Kun hisses and pulls Ten away by the grip on his hair, which only makes the straining hard-on in his own jeans worse. ‘Don’t wanna cum yet.’ 

It’s cute how sensitive he is, horribly endearing even. 

Ten ends up bent over the laminate countertop on his elbows, gripping the edge of the sink as Kun coaxes his legs open. Kun unzips his jeans for him and guides him out of them. It would be gentlemanlike if it weren’t for Kun’s hands on his hips, or the way he strokes down the small of his back, feeling out the shape of Ten’s ass through his Calvin Kleins. 

Ten arches his back into Kun’s touch, impatient for it but too proud to beg. Finally, Kun pulls his underwear down and Ten hears the lube bottle being opened. He’s expecting the familiar cold sensation when he hears Kun spit, and hot saliva trickles down his hole. It feels _dirty_. He’s about to say something, anything, but Kun spreads the spit around and slowly pushes in a lube slick finger, and Ten can only moan. 

Kun works him open carefully - knuckle deep at first, testing his limits, until he’s eventually scissoring three fingers in and out of Ten. There’s drool in the corner of his mouth, and he moans too loud while the party is still going on downstairs. But Ten doesn’t care. Kun fucks him good as the highs and lows of the ground floor party ebb out into a low rumble in the background. He claims him so easily like this, takes what he wants with an ease and conviction that sets Ten on fire. 

Soon enough only the sounds of his hitched breaths and moans fill up the room. It feels so good as he stretches him open, but it’s not nearly enough. Ten is painfully hard, and he can feel Kun pressing against his hip too. 

‘You can fuck me now,’ he pants, ‘I can take it.’ 

Kun huffs out a laugh. ‘Can you?’ he asks, but Ten isn’t amused. He has no right to be cheeky while three fingers deep. 

Still, Kun slows down. He slides his fingers out carefully, and Ten lets his head fall forward with a laboured exhale. Kun makes a condom appear out of his back pocket and tears the package open with his teeth. He rolls it on and gives himself a couple tugs to relieve the pressure, before coating his cock in lube.

Ten sighs as Kun settles behind him and lines up at his entrance. He chokes in surprise when Kun slides two fingers into his hole again, perhaps making sure he’s ready, or maybe just fucking with him - Ten doesn’t know. Finally, Kun presses the head of his cock against his hole, a dull pressure splitting him open as he presses in just barely, and Ten moans brokenly at the feeling. 

But Kun shifts his weight and pulls out again, sliding his cock up between Ten’s ass cheeks, leaving a trail of lube along the small of his back. It leaves him clenching around nothing, desperate and confused; and Kun is evil for it. 

‘Stop playing games,’ Ten huffs out angrily, pride overpowered by need. ‘Just hurry up and fuck me.’

‘Shhh. _No_.’ Kun hushes him, and it fucking kills Ten. ‘You have to be quiet, or everyone downstairs will hear you. Maybe somebody is waiting outside already. Do you want them to hear too?’

Ten just blinks, too turned on to think clearly. To be so spread out and willing for Kun, and have him deny him like this - it’s embarrassing as is, but the most humiliating part is how much it turns him on. He doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t need to when Kun pushes in with a single stroke. Ten’s eyes roll back as Kun splits him open, full and perfect like this, and Kun lets out a moan that he must have been holding in. 

They find a rhythm together step by step. At first, Ten tries to arch his back and push back at the right angle. But it’s of no use when Kun holds Ten’s hips in place with a bruising grip, pinning him harder against the cold edge of the sink with each snap of his hips. The pressure against Ten’s groin is equal parts painful and welcome friction. And so he lets go, lets Kun set the tempo. 

Kun groans as he pulls out all the way and slides in again, and Ten swears he sees stars when Kun’s dick brushes against his prostate. He’s loose and wet with lube, and can even feel the rest of Kun’s spit slide down the inside of his thigh, but it’s still a tight fit from how girthy Kun is. He drills into him hard and deep, and Ten tries but he just can’t stifle his noises, moans turning into whimpers, whimpers to breathy whines that spill from his open mouth. 

‘You’re doing so good,’ Kun huffs out between groans and rests his hand around his nape, and it’s dangerous how badly Ten wants his praise. ‘I saw you before, when you walked in. Thought about you just like this,’ he mumbles. 

He keeps brushing against Ten’s prostate, but never for long enough that he can savour the sparks of pleasure that shoot up his spine, never intentionally, never giving. The implication makes Ten’s head spin with want and confusion. Kun takes and takes from him, fucks him rough but erratically while he chases his own pleasure, and it turns Ten into a drooling mess. He can’t find it in him to speak, so Kun tugs on his hair to force his head back. 

’You’re so pretty, do you know?’ Kun breathes in his ear. ‘Look.’

Ten looks up, following Kun’s gaze in the mirror. He looks a mess - tousled hair, someone else’s shirt on, and dark hickies blooming on his neck. He’s only inches from the mirror and his panting breath clouds the glass, slack jawed and beyond caring. 

Kun’s eyebrows are knit together in a concentrated frown, so focused on rolling his hips into him. Ten wants to trace the line of Kun’s tensed up jaw with his tongue, wants to lick the sweat off his brow. He looks beautiful this way, broad shouldered and towering over him, forearm muscles bulging from holding his hips in place to rock into. 

There’s a trace of a smile, a dangerous hunger in Kun’s eyes that Ten commits to memory. Its intensity makes his chest flush, and he wonders what it is that Kun sees. If the mirror image reflects something different from where he’s standing.

‘So pretty,’ Kun repeats, snapping his hips harder now, strokes growing more irregular. 

‘I know,’ Ten moans as he watches himself, watches how Kun fucks him. 

Ten steadies his weight on one elbow and reaches down to stroke his own painfully hard dick in time with Kun’s thrusts, jerking it to the mirror image. Kun keeps brushing against his prostate with every stroke, an endless pressure that makes him see stars. 

Ten laughs as he cums; orgasm washing over him like a hot wave, and every cell in his body lights up like firework. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to chase the feeling as it burns him, his pleasure coiled tight like a string as Kun fucks him through it, and Ten spills hotly into his own hand. 

He dazes out, all sounds closing out for a moment. When it comes back again, he can hear Kun curse, moaning as he cums and pushes into him a final time before slowing to a still. He stays hunched over Ten as they try to catch their breath. 

The air in the room feels stuffy all of a sudden. A dull ache is settling in around Ten’s temples from how hard he came. ‘Shit.’

Kun chuckles. 

He straightens up and pulls out carefully. Ten can hear him dispose of the condom and wash his hands, and then he’s pressing a wet towel between Ten’s legs to gently wipe away the lube. 

’Good?’ 

Ten just nods, too tired to speak. Really good. 

A high pitched whistling sound is followed by a loud explosion that wakes them up from their post-orgasm daze. It fades out into a crackling noise, and Ten hears people shout with glee in the distance. 

‘Don’t worry, I won’t ask you,’ Kun says as he pulls away from Ten. There’s something in his voice that catches Ten’s attention, a grain of hesitance for the first time this evening.

‘Ask what?’ Ten frowns. 

Kun pulls up his zipper and glances over at him. ‘I won’t force you to go watch the fireworks with me. I get it if that’s not your thing.’

Oh. Ten nods dumbly. Right. He wasn’t expecting it; hadn’t thought that far yet. And yet, an unfamiliar feeling settles in his stomach. He gets dressed quickly, tries hard not to think about it. 

Kun finishes before him, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He smiles cautiously. ‘Well, happy New Year.’ 

Ten glances down at his wristwatch. 00:01. ‘Yeah…Happy New Year to you too.’

Kun smiles and closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve never written fic before but hey we the new heroes. it started out as just smut, but then this extensive angsty coming of age story sort of happened around the edges, so stick around. 
> 
> please tell me what you thought in the comments!  
**[twitter](https://twitter.com/tentwigs)** || **[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tentwigs)**


	2. Lifeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ’We don’t have to talk about it,’ Ten groans. ‘Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, please?’
> 
> ‘Can I buy you coffee?’ Kun blurts out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i’m back!!
> 
> **Content Warnings:** smoking, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, gagging, lots of...spit..

The campus building is an ugly thing. It’s all hard and jarring edges, windows spaced too far apart, its grey front bleeding into the lifeless winter scenery. Whenever Ten pulls an all-nighter and leaves the library after hours, the lecture hall appears particularly threatening. Its silhouette is shaped like a towering stone in the dark; a monument to the last bit of life force college has sucked out of him. 

Ten struggles to light the cigarette, fingers frozen stiff in the chilly January morning air. Sparks, finally, and the end ignites. Ten takes a shaky breath from it as he stomps through the powdery snow. Most people quit smoking in the new year. Ten started. It’s boredom, mostly. He’d decided to quit drinking anyway, because it was too expensive and always left him feeling like death the morning after. But everyone needs habits, and the promise of a nicotine rush every few hours puts his mind off worse things. 

It’s the first day of classes in the new semester. A restlessness permeates the air - that particular kind of academic folie à deux which has people taking the stairs instead of the elevator, and buying overpriced mechanical pencils that all end up in a dark drawer somewhere. A lot of things have changed since the first time he sat foot on this campus. Ten remembers feeling just as timid as the herd of doe faced freshers in the library lobby anxiously huddled around the floor plan.

There’s the ego boost after just having graduated, the family expectations and high hopes. But eventually the Icarus tendencies always wear off on you, and deadlines are deadlines, no matter how much you spent on tuition. So you worry and you cry, and suddenly you’re three weeks behind schedule and sitting in group therapy at 8 am, hungover from a seedy Thursday night out, wondering if any of it was worth it. 

And still, Ten never stopped trying. 

It’s Monday morning, and there’s upsides to the placebo effect of a new semester too, like how he bothered to show up in the first place (because skipping first day is just sad). 

Ten takes another drag of the cigarette as he crosses the parking lot. The combination of freezing wind and smoke burning hotly in his throat makes his head hurt, and classes haven’t even started yet. He flicks it to the ground and stomps at the embers. Adjusts the circular frames of his glasses. Big breath. Enter, Ten.

‘It’s important to recognise that this is an interdisciplinary course, and I suggest you all fill in the gaps of your knowledge by reading the foundation material on the sections that you’re unfamiliar with, whether that’s statistics or signal processing.’ 

Dr Navarro pauses in her pacing around the room and gives the class a stern look, but Ten is jaded enough from last semester to not freak out under her hawk eyes. 

’We’re starting module one next week, so best get started with the foundation readings now or you’ll fall behind quickly. You all have a blind spot in the syllabus, so better own up to that weakness now or it _will_ wreck you later,’ she warns them. ’Now, let’s look at the schedule.’

When she leans over the laptop screen to project the correct pdf on the overhead, the classroom door opens slightly and another student sneaks in late past the five minute mark. They close the door quietly and turn to search for a seat, but nearly every row is completely full. Ten is already inexcusably exhausted from having to leave his bed in the first place, and the world is unfair anyway, but this might really prove that the universe hates him. Because as Ten looks up out of curiosity when the stranger lifts his head to scan the room, everything slows down for heartbeat as the two of them lock eyes.

Maybe it’s just a drop in temperature in the room, maybe the clock above the door ceases to tick for half a second, or maybe it’s something much larger than he can know, but somewhere, somehow, a cogwheel turns - and he locks eyes with the guy from New Years. 

Kun. 

It only lasts a brief moment. Ten immediately looks away, and stares into the textbook on his desk, eyes fixed on the red bold print letters, yet he sees nothing. Someone’s got to have cursed him for this to happen - probably his arch nemesis Kim Doyoung on the student council - because he’s usually careful to avoid embarrassing situations like these. Kun hurries past the row where he’s sitting. There’s two empty seats on Ten’s left side, but at least Kun has some sense of discretion not to approach. But then he hears the chair slide out from the table right behind his back, and really, this is worse. 

Ten shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Did Kun even recognise him? Does he remember? Most likely, no. Kun showed no sign of of it, so it could all be in Ten’s head. His ego stings just a little, but it’s the most reasonable explanation, plus the least problematic for him. Because if there’s any rhyme or reason in the universe, someone like that doesn’t go to bed alone much, or beg for second worst. So after rationalising the situation to himself, he decides that Kun has probably forgotten the incident and they can all move on, and Ten can continue to go to class and hate speech recognition in peace without distractions.

The lecturer eventually gets the powerpoint working and starts speaking again. She explains the scope of the syllabus, droning on about scheduling and personal responsibility, and Ten can finally breathe a little easier. It’s all fine. Probably. The course content isn’t relaxing to listen to per se, but it’s familiar white noise to zone out to as he settles more comfortably into his seat. 

This year is gonna be okay after all.

An hour passes and Ten is eager to get out. He needs some fresh air and privacy, asap. He starts to pack up before Dr Navarro even finishes talking and dashes for the door when she finally dismisses them. He gets out first and heads for the stairs, finally able to breathe out just when something yanks him back, halting him in his escape - and they meet eyes for the second time this morning. 

Kun lets go of Ten’s arm and looks up at him in mirrored surprise, as if he too was shocked by the hand that reached out. But Ten doesn’t have time for this, nor does he want to cause a scene as the classroom doors open one by one down the corridor and people come streaming out. 

’We don’t have to talk about it,’ Ten groans. ‘Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, please?’

‘Can I buy you coffee?’ Kun blurts out. 

The thing is, Ten is used to being the bad guy. Ghosting, leaving early, turning guys down easily when they press him for more at parties, on the way out in the morning, and in the corridor outside 25E apparently. But he isn’t so heartless that he doesn’t feel embarrassed for Kun’s sake to have to turn him down in front of what’s turning into a crowd. And it’s a shame, really - because Kun looks good enough to eat in his black hoodie and tousled blonde hair - but it has to be done. 

’Listen, I don’t do repeats. I just go here to study,’ Ten tries to tell him as firmly as possible. ’It was nice, but we can leave it at that.’

‘No, look, I don’t have any friends in this class, and I could really use someone to explain the Nyquist Frequency to me,’ says Kun - and he looks genuinely stressed about it, which Ten can empathise all too much with. ‘Anyway, it’s just coffee. You look like you could use some.’ 

Kun smiles cautiously - warm and inviting - and fuck it, Ten is _really_ tired. If this isn’t a big deal to Kun, then it shouldn’t have to be for him either. 

But there’s the tug of his better conscience, because he’s stumbled past this line before. There was a freshman in Ten’s cognitive science module last year, who fawned over him for so long that the inherent humiliation of it all eventually warped into something endearing in Ten’s eyes. It was ridiculous at first - the way the younger followed him around, flirting (poorly), telling everyone and their grandmother about how badly he wanted him with no second thought about reputation or maintaining appearance - but that made indulging him all the more tempting. 

It must have been exam season when, half drunk, half lacking better judgement, Ten let Hendery jack him off in the back alley to a party of a friend of a friend. Hendery must have cum in his pants just from that, judging by the red face and virginal moans, or so Ten thinks. But really, he didn’t ask. Worst of all maybe, he didn’t even care back then. 

Thankfully they formed an unlikely friendship at the end of it all. But first, mistakes were made and miscommunication ensued. Now Ten follows three simple rules for a happier, more harmonious hoeing around experience without the emotional baggage. 

But this? Coffee never hurt anybody. 

‘Alright, okay,’ Ten gives in, and Kun lights up. ‘But you’re still paying though!’

The little coffee shop tucked away on a side street across from campus is especially busy on a morning like this. It’s bustling with noise and conversation, and the pleasant aroma of coffee beans is just what Ten needed to wake him up. It’s not quite rush hour yet, so they manage to find an empty pair of seats by the windows. 

’So what do you study?’ Kun asks once they’ve settled with their drinks. ‘This must be a shared course between degrees, because you’re definitely not in my year. I would have noticed you earlier, just saying.’

’Do you want my social security number too?’ Ten squints at Kun over his coffee.

’Oh, don’t read so much into it,’ Kun scoffs. ‘Not everything is a wet compliment.’ 

Ten raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s not a compliment? Or it’s a not-compliment?’

‘I’m just saying,’ Kun says, but there’s no malice in his words. ’Sure, you’re cute, but particular.’

‘Particular?’

Kun chuckles against the rim of his coffee cup. He gives Ten a once-over before continuing. ‘Never in my life have I heard someone list such a detailed Starbucks order, and I know a lot of caffeine divas. Plus this morning in class you clearly spent more time rearranging your notebook and handout leaflets to be perfectly symmetrical than listening to the lecture.’

Ten tilts his head. ‘And you spent more time watching me than minding your business?’ he squints. 

Kun snorts and throws his hands back in defeat. ‘Okay, you win. I would still peg you for a maths major though, but maybe that’s a little on the nose.’ 

‘Well, close enough,’ Ten admits, watching as Kun takes a lunch box out of his backpack. ’Informatics, actually,’

Kun makes an understanding noise and nods while chewing his food. 

’What about you?’ Ten asks. ’What’s got you cursed?’

‘Aerospace engineering,’ Kun enunciates, like that’s supposed to make it more meaningful.

‘Well, sounds just as boring. Good to know we’re both fucked.’

Kun shakes his head. ‘No, I’m pretty happy with it. Don’t get me wrong, it feels impossibly difficult some days, but it’s what I’m passionate about. Why, is informatics that bad? Got strict parents or something?’ 

His concern catches Ten off-guard. ‘No, nothing like that,’ he says. ‘Just makes me wanna kill myself.’

Kun gives him a concerned look. ‘Well that’s dark.’

Ten rolls his eyes. ‘It’s inevitable. I like internet stuff. You know, computers, cat videos, coding simple stuff. Informatics made sense at some point I guess.’ Ten pauses to sigh, shaking his head. ‘But, it’s time-consuming and frustrating and difficult - but you can’t expect a job to spark joy, it just has to pay rent, you know? Everyone has hobbies outside of school, but hobbies don’t pay the bills, so here we are in the bowels of it.’

’So switch degrees.’

’What?’ 

’I mean, if you hate it that much. What, you’re a creative? I don’t know if you like to write music or paint ahegao faces in oil on canvas, or both - but maybe that’s what you should be doing. Isn’t there a saying about that?’ Kun shrugs. ’It’s important to have something you’re passionate about. Everyone needs a lifeline.’

Ten frowns. ’Okay Oprah. It’s not that simple.’

’Why can’t it be?’ Kun challenges him, and Ten hates that he does. 

He could list a hundred reasons why that’s a bad idea - like how he’s a good dancer but not _that_ good, like how it’s a shaky industry, or that if he dropped out now all the time he already spent in college would have been for nothing - but it doesn’t matter. Kun doesn’t need to know any of that. And Ten sure as hell isn’t a charity case for unsolicited career advice. 

And so, he lets it be simple. 

’Whatever,’ is all Ten says as he sets his finished coffee cup down on the table with a sharp clink - and that’s that. Kun is an annoying person, he’s decided. Ten reaches for his denim jacket, and Kun looks up at him in surprise. 

’Thanks for the coffee. Can I suck you off?’

The floor tiles are cold against Ten’s knees but Kun’s hand is a warm weight against the back of his head. 

They managed to find an empty row of toilets on the fifth floor of the library, near the old computer labs where no one goes to study anymore. It’s a little too small for two people and the smell of Clorox stings in his nose, but it feels good once he’s on his knees, to not have to think or worry for a while.

It’s messy - Ten licking open mouthed down Kun’s length, flattening his tongue as he coats his cock with saliva with a steadying hand around the base. Ten laps at the underside, smiling against the hotness of Kun’s skin when he feels Kun’s dick stirr and swell under his tongue. He traces the tip of his tongue higher until he reaches the head, and looks up at Kun as he puts his lips around him and sucks, tasting the pre cum, and Kun makes a strained noise low in his throat.

And maybe it’s a mistake, on paper anyway. If Kun wanted a study partner, this surely isn’t it, nor is it going according to his own free lunch plan. But Ten has always been bad at following rules, even his own. Kun pets Ten’s head absentmindedly, and it feels like an anchor keeping him grounded in the moment, safe from the threatening whirlpool of overthinking. Because how could it ever be a bad thing to make someone feel good? 

Perhaps he wasn’t paying full attention last time, but now that he’s between Kun’s legs for the second time, it’s apparent how _big_ he is. But fuck it, Ten loves a challenge. He seeks out Kun’s eyes and keeps the contact as he relaxes his jaw and swallows Kun down as far as he can go, slowly sinking down inch by inch until the blunt head of his cock hits the back of Ten’s throat. 

The immediate urge to gag is strong at the intrusion and tears begin to swell up in his eyes, but Ten blinks them away. Kun curses under his breath, and it gives Ten the necessary determination to go on. He concentrates hard on breathing through his nose and relaxing his mouth, counting to three in his head. Eventually the unpleasant feeling goes away, and he pulls off slowly to catch his breath. 

‘You taste good,’ Ten smiles impishly and swirls his tongue around the head of Kun’s dick. 

Kun looks at him in bewilderment. ‘And you’re good at that.’ 

Ten hums and swallows him down again. It’s less deep this time, Ten focusing more on bobbing his head with hollowed cheeks. He strokes the lower part of Kun’s length, touching him wherever his mouth can’t reach, and Kun moans in appreciation. It spurs Ten on and he sucks hard around him, trying to build up a good rhythm as wet noises fill the room. 

The weight of Kun’s hand against the back of his head becomes heavier as Kun urges him forward, pushing his face down on his cock. Ten squeezes his eyes shut and relaxes his throat as best as he can, choking around the weight that fills every corner of his mouth as Kun’s cock slides all the way down into the back of his throat. Ten grabs unto Kun desperately, nails scratching at the skin above his waistband when he gags, Ten’s throat contracting, tight and wet around him. 

Kun lets out a long groan and throws his head back, steadying his weight against the sink. ‘Fuck, fuck.’

Spit and precum mixes into a hot and sticky liquid around Ten’s lips, dribbling down Kun’s length. It makes the slide easier and Kun somehow pushes impossibly further into his throat, and Ten gags audibly, but he doesn’t let go, just grips at the hem of Kun’s jeans with whitening knuckles as he lurches, and it’s heaven. 

Kun fists Ten’s hair and it keeps him in place with his nose buried in Kun’s trimmed pubic hair. He smells fresh of shower gel, but the smell of sex still hangs heavy in the air; and it’s intoxicating. Kun rolls his hips, fucking into the velvet warmth of Ten’s mouth. Ten groans at the feeling and it must tighten the wet vice grip that his insides have around Kun’s cock, because Kun moans loudly and fists Ten’s hair harder. 

It’s overwhelming - big tears clump his eyelashes together, but the tingling pain which threatens to split him open slowly turns into a far-away numbness, and all thoughts and blood rush from Ten’s head into his groin, his dick desperately hard and straining against the fabric of his pants - but it’s all he needs, just like this. 

Ten whines and Kun yanks him up mercifully by the hair. Ten coughs and globs of spit run down his chin. 

Kun reaches out for him and strokes his cheek gently. Ten looks up at him with glassy eyes, mouth falling open with laboured breathing when Kun pushes his thumb past the soft seam of Ten’s lips. He holds his tongue down with his thumb, forcing Ten’s jaw open. More drool starts to dribble down his chin, strings of it spilling from his lower lip and pooling shamefully on the tent in his crotch. 

Kun juts his chin out and grins. ‘You like to play mean, but you get all bashful once you’re on your knees. A dick down your throat makes you a good boy, hm?’ he says, removing his finger. 

A shiver runs down Ten’s neck, and it’s the most dangerous thing in the world. 

He sticks his tongue out and slowly licks the spit from his chin. Kun grunts at the sight as Ten begins to lap up the mess. He makes a show of it, buzzing under Kun’s fiery gaze as he licks his sticky fingers clean. When he’s finished, he leans forward on his knees and wraps both of his hands around the curved hardness of Kun’s dick again. ‘I like it,’ Ten hums absentmindedly, only half answering Kun’s previous comment. 

Ten licks him clean like a cat lapping at milk. It’s salty and sticky and disgusting, but Kun pets his head through it. Once Ten is happy with his work, he jerks him off lazily. 

‘How do you wanna cum?’ he asks. ‘You can fuck my face if you want.’

Kun groans. ‘You’re too much,’ he says, even as he grabs the base of his own cock and taps it against Ten’s mouth. ‘Open up.’

Ten smiles and opens wide. Kun is rock hard in his mouth, balls already drawn high, and it doesn’t take much longer for him to dissolve into broken moans as he fucks erratically into the wet heat of Ten’s cheek. With one hand gripping the edge of the sink and the other loosely carded through the locks of Ten’s hair, Kun rocks into him, hips stuttering. 

He pulls off suddenly and hurriedly strokes himself with a tight grip. Ten opens his mouth wide and lets his tongue hang out as he looks up at Kun with big, waiting eyes. A stream of mumbled curses fall from Kun’s mouth, but Ten is barely listening, only admiring the sight of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones and flushed face when he throws his head back and strokes himself to finish. 

Ten sticks his tongue out further, but Kun isn’t even aiming right. ‘Not my glasses-’, Ten stutters as the realisation hits, but it’s too late. 

Kun cums across Ten’s face, strings of cum coating his cheek and nose and across the thin frames of his glasses.

‘I hate you right now,’ Ten whines, and he means it. ‘Do you think I carry lens cleaner spray with me everywhere I go?’ 

When Ten stands up again on wobbly legs, Kun crowds him against the wall. ‘Why not? I think it suits you,’ he smiles lazily, and Ten is about to snark back when Kun cups him through his jeans. 

It’s not fair at all, because Ten is so hard that he can barely think straight. He huffs and bucks his hips into Kun’s touch, dick straining against the fabric. ‘Shit.’ 

Kun quickly unzips his jeans and drags his underwear down enough to pull out Ten’s dick. Ten bites his lower lip when Kun finally touches him, so sensitive from waiting so long. But Kun leans in and kisses him softly, jacking him off with a painfully tight grip, slick with pre cum - and it’s too much, too rough - and Ten is so, so close. Overwhelmed by sensation and sensitivity, Ten has to pull his face away. Kun smiles into the crook of his neck, breathing hotly against his neck, and Ten never wants to leave this dingy fifth floor toilet. 

‘Seems like we’re starting a pattern of bathroom quickies. I’m thinking we could do something different next time,’ Kun mouths against his neck. 

‘Next time?’ Ten repeats in a deadpan tone. Kun twists his wrist differently all of a sudden, thumbing the sensitive tip of his dick, and Ten can’t hold back his moans. 

It feels good, everything about it. Too much, too hot, too good, and he doesn’t know how to handle that, or how to submit fully to Kun without giving something up. So maybe he has to leave something behind when he leaves; a fragment of himself forever locked between these four walls. Something true in exchange for something real. And it might just be worth it, if only for this. 

’Do you wanna cum?’ Kun asks, and Ten can hear the devil in his voice. He turns his head to glare at him - dazed and almost there - sensing the proposition before it even lands. 

‘Beg me nicely then,’ Kun smirks. ‘Or, give me your number.’

Ten blinks. This really settles it. Kun is awful, terrible, evil as he strokes Ten faster and Ten feels the familiar tightening in his gut. He’s so close, so on edge, desperately chasing Kun’s hand around his leaking cock, but -

‘Give me your number,’ Kun repeats, twisting his wrist just right, and Ten’s eyes roll back. 

He doesn’t know what’s more impressive - the fact that he’s able to spell it out correctly just as his orgasm hits him, or Kun paying enough attention to even remember it. Ten’s knees threaten to give out as he cums but Kun is there, holding him upright and stroking him through the aftershocks until Ten pushes him away. 

It’s not fair, and it’s not right. But it’s not Kun’s fault either, that Ten can’t be his friend. He tries hard not to think about it for the rest of the day, because regret takes you nowhere - but it’s not fair how good it feels with Kun, and it’s not right that it’s _Ten_. But Kun texts him later that night, and at that point there’s nothing that can stop what is already in motion, Ten convinces himself. Especially not some made up rule. 

_1\. Never fuck the same person twice._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten goes to the rest of his classes that day with poorly cleaned cum on his glasses bc he’s a whore
> 
>   
**[twitter](https://twitter.com/tentwigs)** || **[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tentwigs)**


	3. King Pike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kun comes into his life out of nowhere with a warmth and regularity, forming a routine so pleasant that Ten doesn’t allow himself to think twice about how messy it could get, because everything about it simply feels nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update is finally here, apologies for the wait!! i decided to split it so this one is shorter, but to make it up to you, i’m already 5k into the next chapter so that will come very soon!

’He wants to take me to dinner,’ Taeyong says with a mouthful of cereal. 

They look at each other, blinking slowly through their early morning daze, whilst the clock above the fridge ticks patiently through the silence. 

’What does that mean?’ Ten frowns, voice heavy with sleep. He sits with one leg up on the chair, still clad in his oversized pajamas. 

Taeyong looks away to squint into the bowl of soy milk and mushy corn flakes in front of him. ’I don’t know. But, I think I like him,’ he adds - the admission half a beat late. 

The sun shines white and bright through the pulled down blinds in the kitchen window, and dust particles dance in the air. They really need to vacuum, Ten notices reluctantly. Equally lost in thought, Taeyong accidentally lets go of the metal spoon in his hand and it makes a sharp sound when it comes in contact with the bowl, jolting them both awake. 

Ten groans and massages his temples with the pads of his fingers. ’Wait, so you like-like him? I thought you said that you guys were keeping it casual.’

Taeyong shrugs and shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. ’I did say that. But Yuta is so nice, Ten. He texts me good morning, and yesterday he took me to the aquarium.’ Taeyong pauses to raise his eyebrows, an expectant look on his face, but Ten is too groggy to give him the proper reaction that he’s fishing for. ‘Now he wants me to meet his friends, and I think I’m gonna say yes,’ he continues in one long exhale. ‘What does it all mean? Am I in love?’ 

Taeyong looks at him with big eyes, but it’s too loaded of a question for Ten to digest on only toast and five hours of sleep. 

’Fuck if I know,’ Ten sighs. The alarm on his phone goes off just then; a shrill reminder to finish breakfast and leave the house. Ten groans. He stands up and swallows down the rest of his sour coffee in one brave chug, letting out a deep breath when he sets the empty cup down on the table again and turns to Taeyong. ’But you seem happy these days. Tell him yes. There’s a new Japanese street food place down on Dayton Street - I heard it’s really good. You should take him there,’ Ten says, ruffling Taeyong’s messy morning hair before turning on his heel.

Taeyong smiles cutely, shouting after Ten when he leaves the room. ’I love you!’ 

’I love you too!’ Ten calls from the hallway. 

It’s the little things that make him happy. Small everyday routines, known and comforting in the midst of all the chaos of young adult life. His morning habits with Taeyong in their shared apartment - and winding down at the end of a stressful day with their legs crossed over each other on the bed, speaking softly, plaiting a small braid into Taeyong’s scalp. _‘I’m worried about the future’_, one of them will whisper. _‘Me too’_, is always the answer, and it need not be more. 

Ten could never be thankful enough for his best friend. It’s a silent kind of thing, but the comfort lies in just his presence. There’s not always a need to talk about it, even on bad days. As long as he can knock on Taeyong’s door past midnight and slip under the covers; and Taeyong will know why, like he always does. 

It’s herbal tea and honey in the evening; late practices at the dance studio downtown; slowly perfecting a move; lighting a new lavender candle at night before bed; his favorite instrumental playlist in his headphones. And there’s something else, too - something new. It’s light and airy at first as it comes and goes without fully establishing a rhythm, only something diffuse in his mind still. It takes form at such a slow pace that he doesn’t recognise it at first as a comforting habit among the others. But it is. 

Going to class is mostly a hassle from the surrounding rituals - waking up early, the dread of forced group participation, trying to follow along but inevitably getting confused at one point or another, and not daring to ask for clarification. So when class becomes a bit more bearable day by day, Ten doesn’t assume that it will stay that way. But it does. 

Kun comes into his life out of nowhere with a warmth and regularity, forming a routine so pleasant that Ten doesn’t allow himself to think twice about how messy it could get, because everything about it simply feels _nice_. 

They text a little. It’s flirty in places, and less so other times. Kun sends him a message late on Wednesday night to ask how the hell to use the complicated program they’re supposed to analyse waveforms with - the one that Ten has already had half a year to master - and it’s cute, because he’s been there too, and because he unexpectedly learns that Kun loves to text by sprinkling in adorable emoticons among frustrated threats at the course organiser, and it makes Ten giggle like a fool into his pillow. 

Even so, on Friday afternoon when the next class is scheduled for, he doesn’t expect much. This time it’s him who’s slightly late. Again, it’s a packed classroom; still too early for the inevitable handful of dropouts to give in. But Kun waves him over into the third row from the front, pointing to the empty seat he’s saved for him. Ten sits down beside him, and again on Monday, and every class thereafter. 

It’s week three when the first big assignment rears its ugly head. 

‘Friday, the 7th of February,’ Dr Navarro shouts in a scolding tone. ‘Set an alarm, mark it in your calendar, tattoo it if it makes you not forget.’ 

Ten glances over at Kun and raises his eyebrows. He’s met with an understanding smirk from Kun. There’s a running joke between them about the lecturer making vaguely threatening suggestions. However, this time it might be justified. 

‘You have to build a simple automatic speech recognition system using Hidden Markov Models, and follow with a lab report detailing what you did, what problems there were, and how they could be solved. So far so good?’ she pauses and scans the room. 

When there is no response from the tense classroom, she turns back to the Powerpoint slide. ‘You’ll have to write the lab report yourself, but the rest of the task is a group project. There is a lot of monotonous work involved with training the data, so I think you’ll be happy to share the workload. Oh, and look at the time. Let me know by next time who your lab partner is, and you can get started.’ The screen stutters to black, and she clasps her hands together with a sharp clap. ‘That’s all, folks!’

Heavy sighs and the squeaky sound of chairs being pulled out erupt throughout the room as everyone stands to pack up and leave for the weekend. 

Ten hesitates to close the lid of his laptop for a second, glancing up at Kun who is already on his feet and pulling the strap of his backpack over one shoulder. Ten quickly gathers his things, shoves his notebook into the cramped space of his tote bag and follows Kun out in a hurry.

’Busy weekend?’ Ten prompts and nudges Kun’s shoulder, head tilted to better read his mopy expression. 

’That’s an understatement,’ Kun replies tiredly, reflexively leaning away from the attack of Ten’s pointy elbow to his side. ‘I’ve already got a ton to do in my Astrophysics class. Didn’t need the extra stress of this project.’ Kun shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks a stray ball of crumpled paper on the floor, which bounces against the flaky wall strip of the corridor. 

_He looks cute when he pouts_, Ten thinks but doesn’t say, instead chewing on the sore inside of his cheek to hold his tongue. 

’I could help you out,’ Ten offers suddenly, the words escaping him before he’s fully thought it through. ‘You know I’m good at this stuff anyway. Poor you mister spaceman, with your head up in the clouds.’ 

Kun turns to glance at him, a soft smile on his lips. 

’And, we could help each other de-stress,’ Ten adds, hoping that his voice sounds nonchalant enough for it not to come across as desperate, because he’s not the desperate type. Just nice enough to help a fellow student out, and sensible enough to know that Kun is a good looking guy - objectively speaking. ’Doesn’t that sound nice?’

Kun licks his lips and looks away again at that, gaze focused on the swirl of abstract patterns in the linoleum flooring. ’You’re very convincing,’ he says gingerly.

’And intelligent, and amazing,’ Ten beams, because Kun hates it when he acts overconfident. 

Kun stops mid-step. He turns to face Ten - something unreadable in his expression. ’Alright. Lab partners is it?’

Hoisting the heavy tote bag back up on his shoulder with one arm as it begins to slip, Ten holds his other hand out for Kun to shake. ’Lab partners,’ Ten repeats. ’Would you like that, Mr Qian?

Kun gives him a once over and laughs, punching Ten’s shoulder and dragging him in with an arm around his neck. ’Hey, why so formal all of a sudden? Surely we’re beyond that point, hm?’

Ten ducks his head away to feign annoyance in this little game they play, pushing back noncommittally. ‘Maybe so, but who’s to say I can’t be polite anyway?’ he diverts. It’s true what Kun says - whatever third base is, they’re well beyond it. 

And so it’s an unexplainable thing, the way Ten’s body flares up with a burning heat when Kun reels him in and squeezes the nape of his neck. Like a camera shutter, hazy images flimmer by in Ten’s mind of Kun’s strong hand gripping him by the scruff, holding him firmly in place as he pushes into Ten again and again, Kun looking at him through the dirty reflection of the mirror, Ten watching Kun; Kun, Kun, Kun.

Ten feels sick, feverish. 

He isn’t usually like this. He’s been stressed lately - more than usual - which might explain things. This close up, Ten can’t help but catch a whiff of the sweet cinnamon tones of Kun’s cologne, and maybe the familiar scent is what sets him off, too. He shouldn’t be flustered - he isn’t. It’s frustrating is all, the way his body reacts so easily to Kun, but that’s all there is to it. Skin to skin; neuron to neuron; a natural movement in his unconscious.

They walk in the direction of the library like so, snickering and complaining about the project in unison. And if Kun looks flushed in this lighting, it’s surely a trick of the eye.

If going to class is usually a series of bothersome rituals, then being around Kun can be reduced to its own number of distinct, pleasant rituals, too. Because it’s nice having someone remember to save you a seat. Just as it’s nice to have company in the library until late in the evenings, when the dark settles on the other side of the artificial lights that shudder in the reflection of the windows. Just as it’s nice to share a package of Ten’s favorite sweet bread rolls and watch the crumbs cover the yellow tinted pages of his notebook, and make stupid jokes about insignificant things, and laugh, and forget, and do it all over again tomorrow.

But Ten wouldn’t call it friendship, whatever it is that Kun and him have, because they barely know anything about each other. There’s pieces but no puzzle. Yes, Kun studies Aerospace Engineering. But where he lives, who his friends are, how he likes his eggs in the morning - Ten doesn’t know or think about. Not much anyway.

They dance around meaningful topics with a grace reserved for a knife throwing couple act, dodging anything that could lead somewhere. Sometimes Kun looks at him for too long, and relief washes over Ten when the Pomodoro alarm goes off and they have to go back to studying in silence - safe from the darkness outside, safe from unknown answers to unknown questions that neither will ask.

The sun is peeking nervously through the washed out clouds and casting a blinding reflection onto his dusty computer screen when Ten’s phone chirps in his pocket. It’s a quiet afternoon in the lab for his practical Machine Learning course, and the young tutor mysteriously disappeared for coffee break an hour ago. So Ten doesn’t feel bad when he leaves early, not when Kun texts _‘Grab lunch with me? ( ՞•ﻌ•՞)‘_, not when he's not getting anything done anyway.

They meet on the upper floor of their usual cafe spot, the one with the window seats overlooking the patio below. People watching becomes a habit for them, along with buying overpriced coffee and sweets for the sake of study motivation.

'Have you looked through the database yet?' Ten asks and scoops up a piece of spongy lemon cake with his spoon. (Kun thinks Ten should eat something more filling than sugar and preservatives for lunch; Ten thinks preservatives are better than to risk food poisoning in case the new chef in the back is having an off day.)

'Yeah,’ Kun nods. ’And I downloaded a bunch of files that we can use. I tried to organise everything in a folder and load it into the program - here, I'll show you.' Kun reaches into his backpack and pulls out his laptop. He positions it carefully between the mugs on the table.

Ten leans over and hums in agreement when Kun shows the progress he's made. 'Right, right. Good. Now we just need to label each wav-file internally and rename them, before we can move on to text normalisation and PoS-tagging.'

Kun groans and rests his head between his hands. 'Remind me why I'm studying this again.'

'Because you love speech recognition so much. Cheer up, I'll show you how.'

By the time that they finish both of their drinks and Kun has eaten the last of his egg fried rice, every other customer that was there before them has left. There's still a massive body of work left that will surely make Ten panic by the end of the month, but all things considered it's a pretty okay afternoon. 

The rest of Ten's courses are stale, but he gets by. Watching animal documentaries with Taeyong after dinner makes things a little better - something humdrum to rest his eyes on as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Unlike with Kun, there’s no doubt that Taeyong is a friend, because Ten will always be there for him without ever asking for anything in return. He's been called selfish in the past - guarded says his counselor - but that’s only half the truth. Because if not wanting to get hurt is being selfish, then not being careful at all is idiotic. And yet that was never an issue when it came to Taeyong. He was the first person Ten met who understood him at first glance. Taeyong saw something innocent in Ten at a time where he was in pain the most; a sad, self-destructive creature unlike Taeyong’s soft-spoken but magnetic self.

Their shared passion for dance and art was only the catalyst, and the gentle vulnerability that Taeyong showed him then laid the foundation of a friendship that runs bone deep to this day. Other acquaintances usually seem superficial in comparison - an understated give and take just for the sake of receiving. But with the two of them there’s only selfless giving, and that’s what real friendship is, Ten thinks to himself.

He used to think that vulnerability was splitting your chest wide open and letting the whole world in. But vulnerability was nowhere to be found in other people’s bed sheets or in drunken oversharing. Just another layer of the mirage and a sick version of intimacy. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that side of the coin. If anything, a quick fuck is better than confusing the hormonal rush of getting off with tender infatuation. But one is surely not the same as the other - and mistaking the two is as much an illusion as it is delusion. 

The looming deadline becomes much more real when the concepts Dr Navarro teaches in class go totally over Ten's head, and he's too anxious to even complain by the end of the lecture.

'Library session?' Kun asks, gently once he notices Ten’s silence, as if trying not to frighten him. That’s how Ten ends up spending his Friday night - huddled over a thick textbook and desperately trying to make the audio joins work, with little success.

'What if we fled the country,' Ten whines and doubles over on the desk. 'They can't fail me if they can’t find me.’ 

‘Do you wanna switch for a bit?’ Kun gives him a sympathetic look. ‘I can have a look, and you’ll keep writing the report instead,’ he offers, patting Ten’s back, and it’s an easy offer to take him up on, like most things these days. 

Updating the log is an easier task for Ten’s patience, but as another hour and a half passes, he’s starting to feel crazy again. Ten yawns and stretches in his seat, arms bent toward the ceiling like a sleepy cat on a sunny window sill. The gurgling sound of Kun’s empty stomach breaks the silence, and Ten glances to see him fully concentrated on the screen still. 

Ten closes his textbook with a needlessly dull smack, and Kun twitches to life at the sound. 

’Can we call it a day? I’m dead hungry,’ Ten complains, and pokes Kun’s stomach. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘I’m onto something with the script though.’ Kun falls back in his seat and groans, ‘It almost works.’ 

Ten sighs. He feels bad - it’s getting late, they’re both tired and hungry, and yet there’s so much left to do, with so little time. He doesn’t want to make Kun do all the work, but he really needs a break to clear his mind. ‘You can’t study for this long anyway. Come on, pack up. We’ll pick up where we left off next time.’

’You go home and eat something then. But why don’t you come over to mine later and we can try to finish up while I’m still in the zone?’ Kun suggests, his voice betraying nothing but fatigue. 

Ten swallows dryly around the stale air, a flash of heat threatening to ghost across his cheeks. Because Ten has never been to Kun’s house. They only meet in the neutral domains of classrooms, library floors and crowded coffee shops. And yet, despite the inherent danger lurking in Kun’s words, his voice echoes the same breezy air of convenience as always. Of course it would be nice to have the added luxury of a soft mattress under Ten’s knees as Kun fucks him dumb. It’s uncharted territory into the personal, but at the expense of Kun - not Ten’s own carefully curated anonymity.

’Okay,’ Ten nods. ’Yeah, that makes sense. How’s seven?’

Taeyong is cooking up something fragrant and gingery when Ten unlocks the front door. He saunters over and greets Taeyong by gently draping an arm over his shoulder. 

’Are you hungry?’ he asks. He stirs the pot of vegetables and creamy coconut milk on the stove in a circular motion, and the rising aromas make Ten’s mouth water. ’Grab some rice from the rice cooker if you want. I made plenty.’

’Ugh, you’re the best,’ Ten exclaims. Taeyong is the best to live with - always clean and respectful, and a great cook. Ten doesn’t know how he does it. 

He picks out their two nicest bowls from the cupboard - the deep set and cornflower blue pair. The rice is perfectly sticky as he scoops some in each bowl and hands one to Taeyong. They sit down to eat - some animated show as a constant background noise - and the stress of the week gently eases out of Ten’s muscles. 

’I’m going out tonight if you wanna come,’ Taeyong brings up halfway through the episode, voice lilting cheerfully. ‘It’s half price on drinks all night at The Fever. Everyone’s gonna be there. Besides, you’ll get to meet Yuta again and, you know, actually get to know him.’

Ten bites his lower lip. ’That sounds fun, but I’ve already got plans tonight. I’m sorry, Yongie.’

Friday nights have always been special for the two of them. It used to make Ten feel immortal - the dizzying blur of traffic lights through half lidded eyes; giggling in the backseat of a car from one club to the other; one endless sinful night stretching its claws from autumn to summer. 

’But I appreciate the invitation,’ he adds quickly. ’And I promise to make an effort to be on my very best behaviour when I do meet him. Next time, yeah?’

’That’s okay.’ Taeyong only looks sad for half a second before shrugging it off, never one to hold a grudge. ’You seeing somebody?’

Ten hesitates. ’Studying with, not seeing,’ he corrects and stabs a piece of carrot.

Taeyong watches him carefully. ’And how is that going for you?’ 

’This is really good.’ Ten points at the bowl with his spoon. He scoops the remaining rice into his already full mouth and tries not to choke as he stumbles to his feet. ‘I gotta run, but thanks for cooking. Send my most formal regards to your boyfriend!’ 

Taeyong quirks an eyebrow. And if Ten rattles the dishes loudly enough in the sink, he can pretend not to hear it when Taeyong mumbles ’And send mine to yours.’ 

The spray of hot water running down Ten’s face in the shower does a poor job of washing away the grimy feeling that sticks to his skin like oil. 

When Ten had finally let Hendery touch him like he’d been practically begging for, it was a bursting release of tension that had been building like a gas leak over the course of the year. By that point they were already familiar enough to be friends, but even that couldn’t prevent the awkwardness of the inevitable fallout. If anything, it made it worse. 

Because Hendery was in love, and Ten was bored. 

He rubs his palms against the sockets of his eyes and takes a deep breath, but in the stuffy air inside the confines of the tiny shower cubicle, it feels like swallowing stones. 

For a period of time after, Hendery wouldn’t even look at Ten whenever they passed each other in class or at a get-together. Whether it was out of shame, hurt or contempt became less relevant with every passing day in his absence. It took that much for Ten to realise how much he missed the goofy jokes and lighthearted outlook that Hendery brought - not just the vain ego boost of receiving someone’s unwavering attention. Of course he should have known better, been the bigger person, or at the very least have seen clearly that it was him who had the power to tip the scales. But by that time the damage was already done. 

It took a year to become friends and twenty minutes to fuck it up. At no point was it worth to risk losing someone over. And so, another rule was added to the list, so that he’d never get tangled up in the same snare of clashing feelings and hurt. 

_2\. Never fuck friends_, Ten promised himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! comments are very appreciated
> 
> special thanks to Any for beta reading this chapter (and the next) and helping me dissect this beast  
**[twitter](https://twitter.com/tentwigs)** || **[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tentwigs)**


	4. One Hundred Degrees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words go straight through Ten’s chest, past his sternum and ribs, and squeeze so painfully around his heart that it skips a beat. ’You would— trust me to?’ Ten asks, searching for the outline of some backhanded punchline within the syllables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this entire chapter listening solely to SEXORCISM by Brooke Candy which should indicate the vibes. also this is LONG.
> 
> **Content Warnings:** recreational drug use, body worship, cum eating

Ten washes his hair twice for good measure.

Eyes closed, he presses the pads of his fingertips in circles and kneads the shampoo against his scalp until it lathers. Foam slides down his spine and dissolves into tiny bubbles under the water pressure. With a dizzying whirl they disappear down the drain. 

It’s a good thing, what Kun and him have. Convenient. Ten knows that, and Kun must know it, too, inviting him like this. 

He scrubs his underarms, chest and neck with soap until the skin turns an irritated red, and then again, and again. Ten keeps his pubic hair trimmed short most of the time. Something about the close cut makes him feel lighter. More clean. Dead skin; dead weight. With one hand sliding down the smooth expanse of his abdomen, he palms himself, squeezing indifferently around the base.

Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a habit. Taeyong’s words at dinner were a good reminder if anything, something like a wakeup call. Because Ten has already broken one rule by sleeping with Kun again after New Years, and by the look of things, they’re not stopping anytime soon. Still, he’s made his peace with it. The first time with Kun was good, the second time was great, and if third time’s the charm, then it’s an addictive risk that Ten is willing to take for another chance at saccharine touch, growing more practiced each time. 

He lets go of his length and grabs the soap again. With a meticulous hand, Ten washes between his legs, carefully rinsing and rubbing until his fingertips prune. It’s not that he’s vain, he tells himself, but he’d rather be ready should one thing lead to another. 

The water pressure comes to a stop with a muffled creak as he turns the knob all the way to the left. It’s starting to feel like an involuntary sauna; the oppressive humidity forming droplets of sweat on Ten’s forehead as he steps out of the shower, carefully so as not to trip. He dries up quickly with the towel, and with the back of his hand, wipes away the condensation from the mirror above the sink. Taking a long look at himself, his own reflection stares back, blurry and obscured.

A convenient give and take is all Kun and him can be; a deliciously hot, mind-numbingly good give, and give, and give, and Ten will eat it all up as long as it doesn’t go further than that. Breaking the first rule was a misstep on his part - or perhaps a secret blessing under the hood - but that’s the extent of it. No more slip ups from now on. 

A quick roll of deodorant, and Ten leaves for the bedroom to get dressed. Pulling a simple black hoodie over his head, he glances over at the alarm clock by the bed. 18:50. Time to go. He packs up quickly, gathering the usual school supplies. On the desk lies the brick heavy textbook, taunting him silently. 

_Come over,_ Kun tells him. _Come over._

What he means, Ten doesn’t know. Rarely ever can he confidently dissect Kun’s blurry intentions. Not that it matters. It would just be cumbersome to haul it all over, if Kun isn’t even planning to study. Come over, he says. Come over, he will.

It’s bitingly cold out; the darkness setting comfortably above the harsh skyline and bleeding into the last glow of the evening. A deep umber shade hangs just above the treetops, obscured by the brick jungle and only visible between the buildings in short glimpses from the foggy window seat of the bus.

At the seventh stop, Ten steps off onto the frosty pavement, breathing mist into the cold air, back heavy with more than just the weight of the textbook. Kun greets him by the bus stop, which is only a short walk from the apartment building. The buzzer doesn’t work, Kun explains, so might as well come get him. They walk back quickly, and Ten laughs when Kun’s shivering hands struggle with the keys. 

‘You can leave your shoes here,’ Kun tells him once they stumble into the relative warmth of the hallway, three floors up. 

It’s a decent looking place for a student - surely nicer than Ten and Taeyong’s small apartment. Ten takes off his shoes and hangs up his jacket on an empty hook on the wall mounted coat rack, where a good number of jackets are already competing for space. ‘Got roommates?’ Ten asks, noticing this. 

‘Yeah, but they’re out tonight,’ Kun replies, leaning awkwardly against the doorframe to the kitchen while he waits for Ten. ‘They went to some club. I didn’t, uh, force them out. Anyway, here’s the kitchen.’

Ten laughs. ‘So what if you did?’ he winks and lets his hand linger on Kun’s hip as he walks past to twirl around the room. Again, nicer than his own place. A consequence of sharing between more people, perhaps. 

Kun gives him a quick tour around the place out of courtesy, but skips past the two other closed doors in the L-shaped hallway. ‘Not gonna show you, but those are Winwin and Yukhei’s.’

‘Your friends who happened to go out tonight?’ Ten asks, prodding at Kun’s embarrassment, and stops outside the final door down the corridor.

Kun gives in; his posture relaxing somewhat to Ten’s relief. ‘Yes, my friends who chose to go out by free will, it just so happens,’ he sighs, and holds the door open for Ten to step in.

The first thought in his mind is that Kun’s bedroom smells good. Not overpoweringly so, but pleasant and inviting.

Like in any student housing, it’s only a small room. However, there’s a clear attempt at making it cozy anyway, between the plants in the window and the wall poster of some strong faced singer that Ten doesn’t recognize. The Chinese letters are of no help either, but he makes a mental note of it anyway. Kun drops down on the bed and drags his laptop into his lap, while Ten unabashedly inspects his personal space. It’s impeccably clean - desk wiped spotless, only a few items on top, and books stacked closely shoulder to shoulder on the shelf above. 

‘You play?’ Ten comments, pointing at the folded up keyboard balanced sadly against the side of the desk. 

Kun makes an unfocused sound behind Ten’s back. Tapping away at the laptop, he hums distractedly, ‘Not as much anymore.’ Ten glances over the shoulder - piano playing suits him. 

A single candle is sat on a marble slate in the corner of the otherwise mostly empty desk. Ten picks it up and turns it in his hand to read the small print letters along the side of the latte coloured packaging. Elderflower, it reads. It smells lovely as he lifts the candle up to his nose. At the same time he notices a small, boat-shaped wooden tray on the bookshelf above, and beside it, a glass in which a number of black incense sticks balance against each other, standing tall like fir trees. Kun must really like his fragrances. Ten hums and puts the candle back on the marble cutout. 

’I love a man who enjoys the finer things in life,’ Ten teases in a sing-songy tone and leans with his back against the desk. ’Didn’t expect you to be an incense and facemask kinda guy though, I have to admit.’

Kun looks up from his laptop and, catching Ten’s drift, his expression turns into an embarrassed grimace. ’Ah, that—’ Kun fumbles, ’I kinda have to.’

Ten raises an eyebrow. ’Exactly who is forcing you to convert your bedroom into a TJ Maxx department?’

Kun looks away as he chuckles. ’No, it’s not like that. Here, come sit down with me.’ He pats the bed, beckoning Ten forward. ‘I need to tell you something that will make you think less of me.’

Ten flops down on the bed beside him. ’I won’t think less of you,’ he quips offhandedly. ’Whatever it is, I will surely have done something worse.’

Kun shifts his weight and tries again. ’Maybe you should think less of me, though. But I ought to tell you either way.’

’You don’t,’ Ten frowns, suddenly uncertain because of Kun’s serious expression. ‘You don’t _have to_ tell me anything.’ 

Kun opens his mouth again as if to argue with him, but shuts it again just as quickly. Instead, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and fishes out a small item. Halfway out into the space between them, he opens his palm, and inside lies a see-through red plastic lighter. 

’I smoke…weed,’ Kun articulates carefully - and there’s an unmistakable foreign nervousness in his admission that turns his shoulders stiff and pulled tautly together. ’The candles and everything is just to mask the smell. The other guys hate it when they can tell.’ Fidgeting with the lighter, he mumbles, ‘Well, Yukhei smokes too sometimes, but Winwin is fussy.’

It must be the one reaction Kun was not expecting, because he flinches back when Ten makes a sudden high pitched squeal of amusement. 

’Qian Kun, are you telling me that you’re _not_ the sophisticated gentleman with exquisite taste in fine perfumes that I mistook you for?’ Ten giggles. ’Are you telling me you’re just a stoner?’

Kun looks at him in disbelief. ’Fuck off, I’m a sophisticated stoner, thank you very much,’ he says and pushes Ten hard enough for him to lose his balance and fall backwards onto the bed - but there’s no bite in his words. 

Ten doesn’t quite know what to do with this information. It’s unexpected, but somehow makes complete sense, too. In daytime, Kun is prim around the edges; hard-working, considerate, and organised. The shelves full of binders and minimalist stationery organisers are proof to that. But then there are times like these, when Kun’s words or actions hint to something darker, like embers in a fire pit gleaming in the half-light - to Ten’s equal surprise and excitement. 

Or maybe it’s just the idea of Kun, dazed and dopy faced, smiling lazily around a blunt, that has Ten feeling some type of way. Kun doing anything, really, seems to have that effect on him.

‘So what then? Why do you smoke?’ Ten turns over and lies sideways on the bed. Unable to contain his curious smirk at these incredible news, Ten rests his head on one hand and squints at Kun. ‘What’s your story?’

’Nothing,’ Kun shrugs defensively. ‘It just helps me sleep, relax and feel good. This isn’t a conversion attempt though - you shouldn’t do it,’ he adds indecisively, waving the thought away with his hand, and Ten’s keen eyes follow Kun’s twitchy movement like a cat’s to a laser pointer. ‘Or do, I don’t know. I just thought you ought to know now if you’re gonna spend time here. If it’s a dealbreaker.’

It’s not a dealbreaker. But more importantly, the implication beneath doesn’t add up - because Kun doesn’t owe anything to Ten. No disclosure, no promise to change, nothing to suggest that what they have is more than a simple method of release; a hot mouth in the cold winter months.

The sharp snap of Kun’s fingers brings Ten back to reality to realise that Kun is looking expectantly at him, the sharp line of his cheekbones drawn tensely together. ‘Ten, would you please say something?’

Ten blinks dumbly at him. ’It…doesn’t bother me. It’s just, you don’t have to say or do anything for my sake. You do your thing and I won’t judge you for it, and we can keep—’ Ten struggles to find the right word, ‘—_this,_ the way it is.’

’Yeah, okay. Cool.’ 

For the first time in the time they’ve known each other, Kun seems irritated at Ten as he pulls away to stare blankly at the computer screen. If he wants to say more, he doesn’t, but the effect of the inaction is felt anyway; and like a third person in the room, its presence is so palpable that Ten fears it will leave an imprint on the sheets between them. 

At a loss for what to do at this reaction, Ten clears his throat. ‘Cool,’ he repeats awkwardly. ‘Let’s get started then?’

With laptops in each of their laps, they fall into concentration soon enough, the tension from before slowly dissipating and piece by piece replaced by the shared need to finish the assignment once and for all as the clock ticks away. Kun connects his phone to a small bluetooth speaker and lets it sit between them on the bed. They take turns queuing study music, eventually settling for the gentle melodies of Chet Baker; mellow piano notes plucked out of thin air fluttering over easy conversation.

‘Waveform generation? Audio joins?’ Kun asks some time later. 

‘Look fine, sound decent.’

‘What about the script?’

‘Runs correctly now.’

Kun ticks off the second to last check box on the list. ‘And the lab report?’

‘Just proofreading left, and if you wanna add something to yours. Ugh, I can’t believe it! Are we finally done?’ Ten throws his things to the side and topples over on the bed with a long drawn sigh.

Kun reaches under Ten to carefully pull out some now crinkled papers from beneath his tummy.

‘I’m done if you are.’ Kun straightens out Ten’s shirt as it rides up, fingers lingering briefly along the small of his back. ‘We did well. Together, I mean.’

‘Mm, really well,’ Ten hums into the covers when Kun’s hand travels higher up to Ten’s head, untangling a strand of hair and lightly massaging his scalp. The sudden intimacy of the gesture is out of place, and sends a shiver down Ten’s spine. ‘You know what we should do? Celebrate,’ Ten mumbles.

‘Uh huh. And what are you thinking of exactly?’

Ten rolls over on his back and raises his upper body on the weight of his elbows. ‘We should smoke.’

‘Do you even know how to do that?’ Kun raises an eyebrow. He hovers dangerously close above Ten, voice lilting somewhere between amused and patronising.

‘Hm, no. I’m just a baby, I don’t know a thing,’ Ten lies. ‘You’ll have to teach me everything.’

Kun laughs loudly at that and ruffles Ten’s hair down into his eyes. The bed creaks when, much to Ten’s disappointment, Kun moves off of him.

‘Maybe I should be bad cop and argue otherwise,’ Kun says and bends to open a drawer, from the depths of which he pulls out a mason jar. ‘But I don’t have the energy. I’m dying to relax some now that that awful assignment is finished.’ 

Ten pouts at the empty spot on the bed but watches curiously from afar as Kun makes quick work of unscrewing the lid and emptying the contents onto the desk, the smell of weed pungent even at a distance. With a clattering sound, a grinder, a packet of rolling papers and a tightly closed up, tiny ziplock bag stuffed with green fall out in a pile.

’You know,’ Kun begins while filling up the grinder with nimble fingers, ’For some reason, I have a hard time believing you’ve never smoked before.’

Ten watches Kun’s hands while he works away, and it’s strange, the way hands can be so pretty. ’Hm? Well, not out of habit anyway,’ Ten says, perking up.

There’s been times, once or twice. As with the rest of his badly advised behaviours, he doesn't indulge unless it's free or easily available. It’s only a vague memory now - it was at somebody’s party and he was tipsy and overly comfortable with a quick toke off a stranger, not thinking much of it then or later, the effects of it long forgotten under the alcohol.

And though the humour is lost on Ten, Kun chuckles to himself. ’Thought so,’ he smiles and nods towards a piece of paper. ’Do you know how to make a roach then?’

Ten rolls his eyes. ’Of course I know how to make a roach.’

He grabs it off the table, and carefully starts to fold the edges of the stiff paper - flatly first, back and forth until it forms a W when viewed from the side, before rolling up the rest of the paper around it - transforming its rectangular shape into a filter tip-like cylinder. Ten proudly hands it off to Kun.

’Would you look at that,’ Kun exclaims, looking impressed as he inspects it. ’A natural talent. You should do this for me all the time.’

Ten snorts. 'Don't get comfortable.'

Judging by the ease with which Kun folds the rolling paper - thumb and index finger pressing the filter and paper tightly together on one end, and stuffs the joint with his other hand - Ten can only guess that he does this often.

If Kun thinks Ten is easy for knowing how, or for being so suggestible and up for anything, Ten can barely blame him. Anger blossoms briefly in his chest at the thought of it, but it's overwhelmingly a side effect of other things. Everyone in Ten's life is always watching his every move, waiting to pinpoint and pathologize.

Ten plucks the joint right out of Kun's hands as soon as he's finished rolling it. Kun sighs, but Ten just puts it to his lips and hums around it as the lighter ignites around the end. He inhales deeply, wet smoke filling his mouth and lungs.

Easy feels good. Ten wants easy.

He moves to sit up comfortably with his back against the wall while Kun rolls a second one, and then cleans up and puts the mason jar back in its hiding place. Ten takes another drag, swallowing the smoke deep in his lungs and breathing out slowly through his nose, thankful for its essentially undetectable taste compared to the sour burn of nicotine. He can feel it seep into his system, loosening his limbs when it hits him.

Kun walks over to the wardrobe and takes out a towel, and then kneels by the bedroom door, pressing it firmly against the gap by the floor.

'You really are a professional,' Ten giggles while watching Kun move around the room to open the window slightly ajar - enough for the cool wind to come through the curtains and create an air current to carry the smoke out in waves.

Kun says nothing, just pauses by the bed and reaches for the lighter in Ten’s left hand, but Ten jerks it away.

'Not even a pretty please?' Ten pouts sarcastically, hand hidden away under his armpit and fingers gripping tightly around the plastic.

Kun scoffs and leans one knee against the covers, and then the other, climbing forward slowly and angling his head down to Ten's eye level. Kun speaks softly, breath warm against his. 'May I have the lighter - pretty please?' 

Ten bites his lip. 'Okay,' he squeaks, handing the lighter over, quickly as if it was hot to the touch.

Ten thinks that Kun is finally done, when Kun suddenly sweeps down and kisses him right on the lips, soft and warm, and Ten gasps into it, reactively sticking the tip of his tongue out to lick against Kun's bottom lip. He can feel the corners of Kun's mouth curl into a smile just before he pulls away. 'Thanks,' he says, patting Ten's cheek.

A terrible blush spreads from Ten's chest to his ears almost immediately, hot and red and awful, and Ten angles his head down into his body in an attempt at hiding away. ‘Anytime.’

The lighter clicks when it ignites as Kun lights the scented candle on the desk. In the mean time, Ten preemptively holds out the joint between his index and middle finger in the air so Kun doesn't have to ask for it. Unbothered, Kun plucks it from his hand and lays down with his head on the pile of pillows.

They sit like that for a while, passing the joint back and forth. With another drag, Ten’s head starts to feel too heavy for his shoulders. It creeps up on him suddenly and then all at once. With closed eyes, Ten lets his head fall back and rest against the wall. It feels like his head won't stop falling, but he doesn’t have the energy to bother checking.

Kun nudges Ten’s leg. 

‘You good?’ 

Opening one heavy eye, Ten watches Kun frown around an inhale, and exhaling, the white smoke momentarily obscures his face.

‘I can’t feel my legs,’ Ten whines and pouts at the way they’re crossed under him.

There’s a tingling sensation spreading all throughout his limbs, from the heavy weight around his shoulders down to his knees. As a long time dancer who’s used to hours of stretching and being aware of every single part of his body, it’s unnerving to lose control like this. Ten's mind is clear still, but his right leg is starting to twitch under his weight.

‘I think I need to lay down.’ 

Kun laughs softly and pats Ten’s knee. 'It's worse that way, trust me. It will go away soon, just don't think so hard about it or you'll freak out.'

'Well, that's reassuring,' Ten clicks his tongue as he passes the joint back.

The light is inching dangerously close to where Kun’s fingers grip the joint. He puts the yellowing filter to his lips and inhales, desperate to catch the last smoke before it burns his hand. 'What of it?' Kun smiles lazily, his eyes dark with mirth. 'You're a big boy, aren't you? You can take it.'

‘You’re high,’ Ten promptly accuses.

‘Yes. And so are you. How do you feel?’

Ten squints at the ceiling. He pauses to think, finally concluding, ‘Subtly horny.’

Kun breaks out into laughter and throws his legs over Ten’s. ‘You’re always horny, that doesn’t say much.’

‘Not always,’ Ten scoffs and turns to defend himself. ‘You just happen to be around when it happens.’

Amused, Kun stretches to put the joint to rest on the window sill as it dies, embers faded around the end, and shrugs. ’Alright.’ He smiles - wide and bright - and it hits Ten like a punch to the gut, something in the realisation that he’s never seen Kun like this before, completely relaxed, no walls up, no nothing.

It escapes him so easily.

'When did you realise you liked boys?' Ten breathes.

The question makes Kun raise his eyebrows in surprise - ears turning bright red - and Ten leans forward as he coughs out a laugh in mirrored surprise. 

'You're embarrassed!' Ten shouts excitedly and points an accusing finger at Kun. 

Kun groans and covers his face with both hands. 'Because it _is_ embarrassing!'

Ten giggles and pulls at Kun's wrists. 'Why, why, why? You have to tell me now. Who was it, your teacher? Your best friend? Or—,' he pauses, and whispers scandalously, 'A cousin?'

'Noo,' Kun groans and swats Ten’s grabby hands away. 'No, it was in middle school, I don't know. I had this whole thing with Jay Chou for the longest time. I really used to idolise him. You know, he was the reason I started singing and playing piano and other instruments. Plus, he's on the cusp of Capricorn, so I think that has something to do with it, too,' Kun mumbles. 'Anyway, he was hard-working and I admired that. But come high school, I started feeling…strange, I guess. Puberty makes you taller and weird-looking and then you're feeling things that you can't explain.' Flustered, Kun nods encouragingly in Ten’s direction, seeking out his approval. ‘Right?’

'I was never weird-looking, but sure,' Ten shrugs. 

Kun rolls his eyes and continues. 'Suddenly, Jay Chou was not just talented, but handsome. Suddenly, I wasn't sure if I just wanted to be like him, or be _with_ someone like him. I looked up to him so much - I still do, to be honest,' he trails off dreamily.

Ten takes a moment to process the information. He squints, scrunching up his nose. 'Wait, so who is this Jay guy? Should I be jealous?'

Kun's face drops. '_That_ is Jay Chou,' he shouts in exasperation and points at the man on the poster, Kun's expression both embarrassed and genuinely upset. 'Oh my god, how can you not know this.'

Ten scratches the back of his head. 'I know lots of other, more important things.' 

Kun groans and falls back against the sheets again. He shoots him a look, and Ten can feel it linger on him for half a second too long. 

'What?' 

Kun shakes his head. 'Nothing.' He picks up his phone to change the music to something more modern. 'You're funny is all.' 

Ten expects something else, but it doesn’t come. Shrugging, he lets it go. Meanwhile, the comforting melody of some R&B song drips out of the speakers, droopy and dark like molten lava. It sounds familiar, like one of those Soundcloud tracks Kun sends him sometimes, unprompted. The bass line bounces off the walls deep inside Ten’s brain, squeezing into every corner like cotton. 

‘So how did you know then?’

Ten takes a moment to think. 

‘It wasn’t just one thing,’ he says while fidgeting with the corner of the duvet peeking out from under the covers. ‘But more like everything. An all-encompassing feeling, sort of.’ Ten studies Kun’s face, from the way his sharp eyebrows knit together when he listens attentively, to his mouth, lips plump and soft. ‘You know how sometimes you can like something without knowing why?’ 

‘Yeah. I know.’

Ten licks his lips. ‘Well, it was like that,’ he continues. ‘I couldn’t quite place it, but I knew. Or, I came to know eventually, once I found the words for it.’

Kun hums, gaze drifting off somewhere distant.

They light up another one once the initial high has settled into a comfortable buzz. Meanwhile, the conversation skews down a rabbit hole of embarrassing stories about first times and other teenage anecdotes. ‘First kiss?’ Kun suggests, the newly lit joint resting lightly in his grip, wrist slack in the air. 

‘At fifteen,’ Ten supplies. ‘It was with my best friend. We both wanted to try it, and she was really sweet about it, but it wasn’t very pleasant. And now I’m gay.’ 

Kun passes the joint to Ten, who takes a light hit before giving it back again; his tolerance much lower than Kun’s. ‘Seventeen for me,’ Kun explains. ‘Late bloomer or whatever. There was this guy at my volleyball practice who had been making eyes at me all summer. It happened behind the bleachers once the rest of the team had gone home. Wasn’t that great either, to be honest.’

‘How cliché of you. How about…’ Ten pauses to think. ‘Ah, first time bottoming?’ he smirks and squints at Kun to gauge his reaction. 

‘Uh,’ Kun laughs nervously. ‘Never done it. Sorry if that’s cliché of me, too. Fuck strict tops, am I right?’

‘Oh, I _could_ if you wanted to.’ Ten’s smirk spreads into an even wider grin. ‘I’d take real good care of you, too.’

Shocked by this forthrightness perhaps, Kun’s eyes widen at the proposition. ’I…’ Kun begins - wavering - but before the other has a chance to turn him down, Ten babbles on to fill the pause in the air.

‘Sorry, I don’t mean it like that,’ Ten winces. 

Normally, he would be eager to chase the blush that spreads across Kun’s face, but he’s careful not to overstep here - all too familiar with what that feels like. With inner thoughts blending effortlessly into speech outside of his control, Ten might have misread the signals; the effects of the high likely clouding his judgement of Kun’s feelings, both tonight and every other time. Suddenly embarrassed as he realises that this might not be what Kun wants at all, Ten recoils into himself. 

’You know, speaking of highschool, some of the parents warned their kids not to be friends with me. Said I’d corrupt them,’ Ten laughs hollowly, unable to stop once it all begins to spiral. ’Even now, people don’t usually come to me for good advice. My other friends never go out with me anymore, anyway, because they all have _real jobs_ now.’ Pausing, he scoffs to himself as the memories return from some hidden place; gyrating pools of bitterness and hurt bubbling up from deep within. ’Well, I may be a bad influence, but,’ Patting Kun’s arm with one hand, Ten swallows down the acidic taste in his mouth and does his best to smile reassuringly. ’Relax, I won’t pounce on you.’

Looking down at the place where Ten’s hand rested just a moment ago, Kun’s voice is low, searching. ‘You’re not a bad person, Ten…you know that, right?’

Ten snorts. ‘Of course I am. This world makes it very difficult to be good.’

‘But you don’t frighten me,’ Kun insists, always reassuring where Ten deflects. His gaze flickers, and it’s a big shame, Ten thinks, to ruin such a handsome face with a frown like that. 

And still, Ten is selfish. Because when Kun takes Ten’s hand and holds it firmly in his, fingers interlocked, Ten doesn’t want to draw it back this time. Punctuating with a hand squeeze, Kun tells him calmly, ‘I’d trust you to take care of me.’

The words go straight through Ten’s chest, past his sternum and ribs, and squeeze so painfully around his heart that it skips a beat. ’You would— trust me to?’ Ten asks, searching for the outline of some backhanded punchline within the syllables. 

Kun nods, slowly. ’I _want_ you to.’

Ten can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe when Kun says things like these which he doesn’t comprehend. And he can’t breathe when Kun smiles, apologetically perhaps, as he puts the joint to the side and leans forward to kiss Ten for the second time that night.

It’s nothing like the other times that they’ve kissed. It’s slower, because for once there’s no rush. No outside threat, no strangers about to knock down the bathroom door, and no uncertainty. Just the two of them, taking their time. Kissing slowly, Ten breathes in Kun’s closeness, his scent, swallowing it down in fractured gasps with a starving man’s hunger. 

Kun pulls him down on top of him, and they slot together perfectly like so. Laying balanced on his side between Kun’s legs, Ten’s thigh presses against his crotch. Even through all the layers, Ten can still feel the heat radiating from between Kun’s legs, and yet, neither lets go of the other’s hand. Ten breathes deeply through his nose and intertwines their fingers tighter, afraid of letting go as the darkness closes in when he succumbs to the feeling; and all he needs to be sure of in that moment is that Kun is there, kissing him. 

Humming into his mouth, Kun parts his lips slightly, just enough to graze his tongue against Ten’s bottom lip. Ten melts into it, returning the gesture lazily. Kissing has never felt like this before. Not this good, not this intense. Time feels slow and syrup thick around them. A bolting sound drums at Ten’s temples, and it takes a moment for him to recognise it as his own frantic heartbeat. Ten opens his eyes just to check that it’s not a dream, but Kun is still there. And maybe it’s all a product of their shared imagination, jointly made up as they go along. If so, he’d like to keep dreaming.

Noticing how Ten pulls away, Kun looks up. It’s a little funny, really - the way Kun’s glazed-over eyes droop from the unusual weight of his eyelids - but Ten knows that as the baby stoner between the two he must look just as faded right now, if not more. 

Kun gives him a quizzical look, and to answer the silent question, Ten shakes his head and just smiles, completely content. Below him, Kun returns the gesture with a cautious smile, and it knocks the air out of Ten for no apparent reason, a fondness overtaking him completely. Kun’s honey blonde hair is tousled against the pillows, his eyes big and dark and sparkling with something genuine that pulls Ten in, deeper and deeper. 

It’s so dumb how pretty Kun is, so dumb how good he tastes, dumb how dumb Ten becomes around him, and all Ten can do is try to kiss it away. 

There’s something indulgent about the way they take their time with it, and Ten feels himself getting lost in the sensation. Reluctantly, he lets go of Kun’s hand, but only so that he can hold him even closer. Gripping the thick hem of Kun’s bunched up college jumper with one hand and gently cupping the side his face with the other, Ten licks into Kun’s mouth eagerly. This way Ten can angle Kun’s jaw sideways for better access to slowly ease his parted lips open wider. With every soft press of a slick kiss, Kun relaxes into it more and more until his jaw falls slack and he lets go completely, letting Ten guide him. 

This feels good, too. Ten is no stranger to leading in bed —if anything, he’d prefer it if being a pillow princess weren’t such a lucrative lifestyle for a lazy prettyboy like him— but this is different. 

Pathetic or not, it struck something sensitive within when Kun said he trusts him, because there’s an inherent limit to what Ten can do for him out there in the real world. After all, Ten is how he’s always been; a hot mess stumbling from one low point to another, his life continuously feeling like one attempt after the other at trying to catch the last train home and barely making it in time. 

And Kun is none of that. 

With their noses pressed flat together, they move as one, and Ten swallows down every little gasp from Kun’s open mouth in search of the silver lining in the mucous membrane that separates them, because there’s no need to speak when their bodies can do the talking for them. For among all the unknown variables, sex is the one thing that Ten knows. Trust is a fragile thing, but this is the only way he can give something back to Kun, to say, _I can make the stress from the rest of the world go away, I can make you feel good - if you just close the door for a while._

And so - low like an animal stalking its prey - Ten leans down closer, angling his head to lick against the vein that beats below Kun’s skin in the warm crease of his neck. He can feel it against his tongue when Kun gasps in surprise - a hand flying to card through the hair at Ten’s nape, urging him on. 

Placing comforting little kisses under Kun’s jaw, Ten drinks in his presence in mouthfuls, and he tastes like salt and warmth and something sweet. 

Ten edges even closer until the top of his thigh presses harder against Kun. It’s barely noticeable, but he can tell when Kun’s hips stutter, thrusting upward in the slightest motion as if to chase the contact. Smiling wickedly into the crook of his neck, Ten licks at the soft skin right above his collar and sucks hard, forming a reddening bruise that will surely blossom into an angry purpur shade by tomorrow. 

‘Can I touch you?’

Kun nods feverishly. ‘Yeah,’ he laughs breathlessly, ‘Yeah, please touch me.’

Slowly, Ten slides his fingers underneath Kun’s grey college jumper. A white t-shirt peeks out from underneath when Ten drags the jumbled layers of fabric upwards to reveal a sliver of skin above his waistband. Kun’s abdomen is hot to the touch as Ten’s fingers explore higher and higher. Feeling the way it dips down like a pool beneath the jut of his hip, Ten slides his hand further up Kun’s side to where it begins to curve in again in the crook of his waist. 

There, Ten presses his fingers into the warmth of Kun’s skin, gripping him firmly in place. He pictures his palms sinking through the skin, like kneading a bulbous dough, swelling with yeast. A foreign twitch of sadness suddenly punctures Ten’s chest at the thought. Fearing that Kun will somehow crumble away and escape through his hands like sand, Ten clutches on to him harder, praying for a way to somehow sink through all the layers and kneel beneath the cerebellum in the back of Kun’s head, whispering _‘Think of me, think of me, think of me.’_

‘Hey,’ Kun calls out through the fog. With glassy eyes and face tinted pink, he drags Ten down into another kiss. 

Ten nods into it, returning the gesture when Kun rolls his tongue against Ten’s. ‘Hey,’ he repeats, hoping that Kun will somehow understand the desperate need that’s pounding through his ribs, which Ten can’t comprehend himself. ‘I’m right here.’

He presses his palms against Kun’s chest in circles, exploring his body for what feels like the first time, in places where he’s never touched him before. And Ten is a little dumbstruck when, under the cotton layers, he finds firm muscle and toned shapes where he expected soft lines instead. 

Ten drags his hands up higher, and Kun makes a surprised sound when Ten’s fingers brush against his nipples. Ten grins against his mouth and twists his fingers experimentally around the bud just to feel Kun buck against him. ‘You’re sensitive,’ he points out with great satisfaction. ‘I like that.’

In response, Kun bites down hard on his lip and Ten yelps at the sudden pain, hands flying up to cover his face. Kun just grins contentedly and licks at the sore spot. 

‘Take off your clothes,’ Ten commands then, frowning as he sits back on his heels on the bed. 

He can’t help but notice Kun’s eagerness as he quickly follows suit, leaning forward slightly so he can pull the thick jumper over his head in a single sweep, and throws it into a corner of the room. It’s sick and twisted, but Ten can literally feel his dick twitch at the sight of how eager Kun is for it, and he groans at the feeling. He would happily make out with Kun all night, but he also _really_ wants to fuck him. Like, now. 

At the same time, Ten’s heart swells with something like gloat; proud at the thought of the privilege he has of getting to guide Kun through this new experience. He thinks of opening Kun up, finger by finger, and licking the corners of his mouth as he’d sob through the pleasure, and Ten feels himself grow harder just from his imagination. 

And yet Kun is lying underneath him, untouched, warm and firm and the real deal. Waiting. For Ten. 

Kun’s chest heaves as he inhales in big breaths, waiting for Ten to touch him again - but Ten isn't done. 

'Pants too,' he mutters, tugging at the hem of Kun's Adidas slacks.

Kun complies pliantly, lifting his pelvis in the air to drag them down his toned thighs. Meanwhile, Ten lets his eyes wander hungrily, and Kun laughs out as he worms out of his slacks, adding to the pile of clothes. 'You too,' he says and reaches to pull at Ten's hoodie. 'Take it off.'

They undress each other quickly between sloppy kisses down to just their underwear until they can rut against each other more easily, getting tangled in the sheets. Ten pushes Kun down into the mattress, grinding against him, and Kun groans lowly in response. Ten's whole body feels twice as heavy. He can't think clearly, can't think at all - only aware of the press of Kun's fingers into his lower back urging him closer, fingernails scratching, the pain numbed by the pleasure that’s already beginning to coil deep in his stomach.

Scooting down lower, Ten positions himself on his side. Again now that Kun is freed from his shirt, Ten's hands wander across his abdomen - but this time he can barely contain how his mouth waters at the sight. Unlike Ten, whose years of dancing has made way for a hidden type of strength rather than obvious bulging muscle, Kun is breathtaking. Because in place of a soft tummy, there are toned abs - finely sculpted as if Kun had stepped out of marble, like some kind of Adonis come to haunt Ten with a 1000 year curse of horniness.

'I don't understand,' Ten begins, and he means it, though his tone is playful. He drags his fingernails down Kun’s side, scratching experimentally at the impressive muscle, which must have taken hours and hours of hard work in the gym to achieve. 'Why are you hiding all of this under those layers? I never knew…what a shame.'

Looking up at him from between his legs, Ten watches Kun’s face turn two shades deeper.

'Why? Are you shy now?' Ten snickers. He clicks his tongue and sighs sarcastically. With one hand holding down Kun's hip, Ten leans down to lick a long stripe from the top to the bottom of his abs, which pull taut together as Kun stirs in reaction. 'You shouldn't be hiding this,' Ten mouths against his skin. 'The whole world needs to see how good you look, baby. You should be proud.'

Kun groans and spreads his legs wider for Ten to settle more comfortable between them. 'D'you like it?' Kun asks, blushing, and Ten's head is spinning trying to make sense of how he could possibly be shy about this.

'I love it,' Ten coos. ‘Aren’t you proud?’ He bites playfully at the muscle before pressing a slick kiss against the skin, lapping at it as he descends down Kun’s abdomen. With his nose nuzzled against Kun’s happy trail, Ten leaves small kisses down the side of the dark string of hair disappearing below the hem of his underwear. 

Ten eyes Kun’s clothed but clearly visible bulge and unknowingly licks his lips. In one swift motion, he tugs down Kun’s underwear until his dick swings free and falls flat against his stomach. He’s only half hard still, but twitches under Ten’s dark gaze. Instinctively, Kun’s hand finds its way to the back of Ten’s neck. But he doesn’t push him, just holds on there, and groans when Ten’s slender fingers slide up his length. 

Ten smirks. ‘So show me how proud you are,’ he demands.

Kun throws his head back and melts into the pillows as Ten makes quick work of him. ‘Fuck,’ Kun breathes, bucking into Ten’s lazy grip around his cock, and Ten just laughs at him. 

‘Does it feel good?’ Ten thumbs at the cockhead and smirks when he feels Kun filling out in his hand. He pauses for a second to spit into his palm; the glob of saliva making the slide easier as he pumps Kun to full hardness.

Kun just groans a yes in response, rendered dumb below him. Maybe it’s the weed spiking the pleasure, or maybe he’s simply great at giving handjobs. Either way, Ten is not complaining. But he doesn’t want Kun to cum just from this. 

‘’Do you still want me to fuck you?’

‘I’ll die if you don’t,’ Kun huffs out, and Ten cracks up at his serious expression. 

It pulls the laughter out of Kun too —a break in the tension allowing them to breathe out— until Ten rolls out of bed in a fit of giggles at the absurdity of it all. A few minutes later, the bed dips as Ten returns with a few items. He hands the condoms and a bottle of lube from the drawers to Kun, and motions for him to scoot over so he can place a towel on the sheets. 

‘Anything else before you have the best fuck of your life?’ Ten deadpans. ‘Some water, sir?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Kun smiles and pulls him down on top of him. ‘Just you. And you’re gonna have to eat that up if you don’t deliver, you know.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Ten grins and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, before crawling lower until he’s at eye level with Kun’s dick. Good enough to eat. Ten hums distractedly and flicks his wrist around Kun a couple times just to get him going again. 

The bottle cap clicks as Ten flicks it open and drizzles a hefty amount onto his fingers. He looks up at Kun quizzingly then. ‘You’ve fingered yourself before, right?’ 

‘Of course I have, it’s just…I’ve never had someone else do it,’ Kun mutters. His eyes flicker to Ten’s, maybe expecting some snide comment, but Ten isn’t in business for that. 

‘Okay. So you know how to relax then. Good.’ He smiles and pats Kun’s thigh. ‘Tell me if it it hurts and I’ll stop,’ Ten instructs him, and Kun nods. ‘Likewise, tell me if it feels good and I’ll make it better.’ 

With his other hand gripping firmly around the base of Kun’s dick, Ten brushes his lube slick fingers against Kun’s hole. ‘Relax,’ he reminds him before slowly pressing a single finger past Kun’s rim. Kun lets out a shaky exhale but does as he’s told, unclenching around it. Ten pulls out to add some more lube before pressing in again, circling a spot inside Kun that has him moaning softly. 

First time bottoming or not, it doesn’t take long to stretch him open. Ten scissors two fingers in and out while letting Kun fuck up into his hand. 

‘Feels good,’ Kun gasps out when Ten pushes his fingers deeper in search of that sweet spot. Ten grins when he finds it, circling his fingers against the bundle of nerves that has Kun bucking desperately into the tight ring of Ten’s fingers around his dick, desperate for more. 

And Ten is happy to give it to him. Leaning down to lap at the side of Kun’s dick, Ten swallows him down and bounces his head sloppily, just a wet heat for Kun to fuck into while Ten stretches him open on three fingers. Kun whimpers at the feeling, and it’s so messy, all of it - and Ten wouldn’t wanna stop if it weren’t for how painfully hard he is right now.

Ten pulls off of Kun’s dick with a wet sound and leans back to watch his fingers slip out of his gaping hole, the puckered rim glistening with lube in the dim light. 

‘I’m gonna fuck you now,’ Ten announces. 

Lying pliant and beautiful against the bed, Kun whines at the loss of contact but nods and spreads his legs wider, and Ten thinks he might just die right there. Clearly, Kun is equally fucked up and probably way too tired to ride him, so Ten won’t suggest it, though it’s a nice thought. Right now he wants to take care of Kun properly, to make sure this is good for him. 

But unable to wait, Ten palms himself through the fabric of his underwear and curses under his breath at how sensitive he is; rock hard under his briefs. In a swift motion, he pulls his underwear off and his erection springs free, bouncing up against his tummy. Ten is too turned on to even think clearly - vision blurry and hands shaking so much so that he doesn’t even know how he manages to roll the condom on, but somehow he rips the package open. A droplet of sweat slide down his temple, and he has to concentrate hard on not coming right there as he slides the condom on; the tightness that engulfs his dick almost too much already. 

Kun touches himself lazily while watching Ten pour lube on his dick. There’s something dazed in Kun expression that Ten can relate to, and yet he has never felt this present before. ‘I’ve never fucked while stoned either,’ Kun comments absentmindedly. ‘But I think I like it.’

Ten eyes him. ‘You _think_ you like it?’ 

‘Mhm.’

Ten snorts. He places his hands on either side of Kun’s hips and drags him down until his ass is flush against Ten’s thighs. Leaning down and catching Kun’s lips in his, Ten coos sarcastically, ‘Let’s make sure of it then.’

Kun smiles into the kiss and rolls his tongue against Ten’s, but suddenly chokes on air when the the blunt head of Ten’s cock presses up against his rim, his jaw falling slack as Ten pushes in deeper and deeper until he’s completely buried inside him, drawing out a broken moan from Kun. 

Ten presses comforting kisses to the corner of his mouth, reminding Kun to relax as he begins to fuck him, but it’s mostly for Ten’s own sanity. It feels overwhelmingly good as he fucks into Kun’s tight heat. Ten can’t remember the last time he did someone face to face like this; the act too out of place for a bathroom fuck in a club, and too intimate for some booty call quickie. But this is not that. 

What it is exactly, Ten doesn’t know. All he knows is that it feels right. 

There’s no sense of time in his mind as they melt together, only heat and ripples of pleasure sending shivers down Ten’s spine. Kun hooks his ankles behind Ten’s legs to pull him in closer, which locks him in place, and Kun’s eyes roll back in his skull as Ten is forced to ram into him at a new angle. He would be worried if it weren’t for the way Kun’s thighs quiver around him as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

‘Fuck me harder,’ Kun demands, his eyebrows screwed together in a concentrated frown - and Ten can’t deny him that. 

Leaning backwards a bit so he can balance on his knees on either side of Kun and use the strength from his core, Ten pulls him even closer with a tight grip around his waist. He snaps his hips upwards at an unrelenting pace, and Kun shakes with it. Ten drags his hands lower, scratching at Kun’s abs just to watch his skin flush red when he trails his fingernails across his stomach. 

The new angle must be doing something, because Kun cries out when Ten rocks into him with a particularly deep stroke. ‘Oh my god,’ he mewls and throws his head to the side, moaning into the pillow. ‘Oh fuck, fuck.’

Ten takes that as an invitation to go faster, groaning at the feeling when Kun clamps down around him. It’s like playing with fire, because Ten is trying his best not to fall off that dark cliff that he knows is nearing. But it’s so hard not to succumb to the pleasure that’s coiling, hot and hard and tempting, deep in his core. Not when Kun feels this perfect, all pliant and loose as Ten fucks him hard into the mattress - and he’s suddenly extremely relieved that those roommates aren’t home to hear it. 

Without warning, Kun stills. His whole body tenses up into a rigid bow, and thighs shaking, he cries out in surprise, ‘I’m gonna come,’ just as he convulses, his untouched dick twitching and dribbling with pre-cum. 

Ten doesn’t see it coming but fucks him through it anyway, mindlessly thrusting into him until Kun quiets down. Ten falls forward, pressing his forehead to Kun’s to allow him a moment to breathe after his release, but Kun bucks his hips for more. 

‘Don’t stop,’ he pleads, and Ten turns to look at Kun - pupils blown wide open, and a dopey smile on his lips. ‘I wanna go again, I know I can.’

Ten groans from low in his throat. ‘Are you sure? I can—’

But Kun just nods, and Ten doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He pulls out slowly and Kun winces with sensitivity, but he just nods faster when Ten buries himself inside him again, fucking him shallowly as Kun’s reddening rim flutters around Ten’s cockhead. 

‘Oh fuck,’ Kun breathes. ‘It feels so good.’

Ten huffs out a laugh - because it does feel really fucking good. 

He buries his face in the crook of Kun’s neck as he picks up the pace again, and it doesn’t take long for Ten to lose himself in it; having been hard for longer without cumming than he thinks he’s ever been when hooking up with somebody. He’s too far gone now, rocking without rhythm, only chasing the pleasure as he breathes in Kun’s scent, drowning in it. Ten is close, too close, and Kun must be too, judging by the way he tightens around Ten for a second time. It only spurs Ten on further, the room spinning around him as he feels his orgasm closing in on him. 

Ten reaches down to fist around Kun’s dick, and that’s all it takes. Kun moans loudly, desperately chasing the friction around his cock, and Ten tightens his grip around him, pulling a second orgasm out of Kun right in time with his own. 

Ten's mind goes blank for a moment when he comes - his whole body lighting up with warmth and pleasure - and he empties into the condom just as he feels Kun spurt ropes of cum into his hand. 

He groans into Kun’s neck as he shudders to a stop and collapses on top of him. He lays there for a moment, but quickly grows disgusted by himself, aware of how sweaty he is, pulling himself up with the last bit of strength left in his body. 

Kun’s chest is heaving and he looks utterly fucked out - chest flushed red and a pool of cum trailing down his stomach, but he still looks beautiful when he smiles tiredly at Ten. 

Ten pulls out carefully, and rids himself of the condom. Kun winces slightly, and again when Ten brushes against his dick that lays red and swollen against his abdomen. Kun lets out a hoarse laugh in response, eyeing his not fully limp dick. ‘Why am I still half hard,’ he complains, stroking himself half-heartedly. 

‘I don’t know,’ Ten giggles and arches down to lap at the pool of cum, licking it off Kun’s abs which are sticky with it. ‘But it’s hot. Why, do you wanna go again?’

Kun groans at the sight, and Ten smirks. Knowing how disgusting it must look, he scoops up a rope of cum and sticks two fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean. 

‘No, yes, no. Ugh,’ Kun sighs, finally swatting Ten away. ‘Fuck, get off. I need a shower.’

Ten rolls over and lets the laughter rip through his body until he can’t laugh anymore, and then he settles with his face pressed into the overwhelming softness of the pillow that swallows him whole.

Meanwhile, the wardrobe creaks open as Kun climbs out of bed to pick out fresh clothes. ’Are you gonna shower?’ comes his voice from way out of reach, but Ten just grunts a mumbled no into the pillow, already half asleep.

Ten blacks out before Kun even comes back - the distant sound of the water spray from the shower pulling him to sleep in gentle waves, deeper and deeper out to sea. And as he lets go, falling into heavy slumber, whatever emotions that he needs to sort through will have to wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! comments are very appreciated
> 
> special thanks to Any for helping me lots and beta reading the first half of this chunky boy.
> 
> (also, don’t do drugs lol especially if you’re a minor, it can mess up your brain fr)
> 
> **[twitter](https://twitter.com/tentwigs)** || **[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tentwigs)**


	5. One Foot in Sea and One Foot on Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s like this that Kun comes to learn that whatever barrier that he manages to break between him and Ten, there’s always another one right behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i return with another long chapter! i also made a playlist for this fic - click **[here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7xncNEjAgmpYNiUWl8FayS)** to listen. 
> 
> **Content Warnings:** (handled tastefully, never glorified) alcohol abuse, vomit mention, recreational drug use

The rusty orange broth simmers and swirls in the pot, bubbling to life from the heat of the stove. A pleasant aroma of spices begins to rise from it and spread throughout the kitchen - ginger and garlic, chilli oil, soy sauce and the spicy zing of lemon zest awakening slowly from their overnight slumber in the scalding bath.

The scallions give way easily under the newly sharpened knife. He slices them finely against the wooden cutting board before adding them to the egg-fried rice. With a steady hand, he gives the mixture a quick stir so the rice doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan. 

Moving quickly is absolutely necessary when timing several dishes at once like this, but it doesn't stress him out anymore. It's with a practiced ease that Kun goes about his business - chopping vegetables, cooking and clearing space on the counter top all at once.

While the heat does its job of easing the rich flavour out of the broth, he moves on to prepare the plump Berkshire sausages to be served alongside the rice. They hiss like tomcats in the night when they burst in two, right down the middle from the high temperature of the pan, exposing the pink meat inside to the scorching hot cast iron. Water spews from their insides, sizzling and foaming until it condensates as the fatty meat of the sausages sautées to a perfectly crispy brown surface.

Once it’s ready, Kun empties the fried rice into a bowl and sets it down on the dinner table with a lid on top to retain the temperature, followed by the glistening sausages on a small serving plate. A cold jug of lemon water from the fridge, plates to eat the side dishes from, wooden bowls (the fancy ones he gifted to himself on his own birthday), glasses, chopsticks — what else?

Ah, the ramen. Kun turns back to the fridge and takes out the container of eggs marinated overnight in mirin and soy sauce.

'Hi,' calls a tiny voice behind his back.

Kun turns around with a whirl - between the kitchen sounds and jazz music coming out of the loudspeakers, he hadn't heard anyone come in.

Ten's small body is half-hidden behind the door frame as he peeks out from behind it. He's wearing an oversized white t-shirt and slacks that Kun instantly recognises as his own. Ten's black hair is messy and wet, hanging loosely across his forehead and obscuring his eyes, and as if transfixed, Kun watches a droplet of water run down the tan skin of his neck. Ten bites his lip and cranes his head to look at what's happening on the stove.

Kun swallows thickly. 'Hi,' he replies. 'Are you hungry? I…made breakfast.' He motions over his shoulder toward the controlled chaos on the counter top.

Ten nods and takes a step forward. Kun inhales shallowly, saying nothing as Ten walks around him and appears on the other side. Something in his movement feels different; an unfamiliar stillness in the air between them.

'Can I help?' Ten asks in a sweet voice, heavy with sleep and void of its usual teasing sharpness. He pokes the bundle of carrots on the cutting board. 'Do you want me to chop these?'

Kun watches Ten's slow movement, and laughs incredulously. 'No, uh, it's okay. Here, sit down by the table. It's nearly done anyway. Do you like ramen?'

Ten does as Kun says without putting up a fight - not even playfully pretending to do so. Plopping down on a chair and pulling up his knees to his chin, Ten yawns. 'Mm,' he nods. 'Ramen is nice.'

Kun tears his gaze away, feeling a hotness spread across his cheeks. He's not sure whether Ten's newfound docility is the result of a particularly good fuck or the slow kind of hangover that weed sometimes leaves you with, or maybe just plain tiredness. With great effort, Kun pushes the thought away and busies his hands with preparing the rest of the breakfast.

But if this is what Ten is always like in the morning, Kun would have brought him over sooner.

‘Have you been awake for long?’ Kun asks.

‘No, I woke up just now. I took a shower, I hope that’s okay. You weren’t there, so I wasn’t sure,’ Ten says airily.

‘It’s okay. Of course. Anything.’

Having groggily wiped the sleep from his eyes, Kun had expected an empty bed, but that wasn’t the case. It's been a long time since he last woke up beside somebody else. And doubly surprising, because it was Ten. Ten, the shifting spectre of his February days. Ten, bright eyed and beautiful, who would rather sext first thing on a Monday morning than humour Kun by talking about anything other than coursework or trivial gossip.

Ten had looked so serene where he lied tangled in the sheets that Kun couldn’t stomach waking him. Breathing in and out at a steady pace, Ten’s eyelids had fluttered, the messy mop of his hair sprawled like a dark halo on the pillow. He still smelled like sex and dried cum, and yet that version of Ten is the most innocent one that Kun thinks he's ever seen.

He lied there for a minute or two, taking in the pleasant silence and watching Ten’s chest rise and fall until he felt weird about it.

Busy hands make a busy mind; an antidote that Kun has long relied on. Whether it’s overworking himself during high school to get away from the house for a while, burying himself in self-study over the holidays or manically baking loaf after loaf of bread for Winwin and Yukhei purely out of stress, there’s always something else to take the edge off.

Kun had slipped out of bed, carefully so not to wake Ten. The sun greeted him in the open kitchen, and he found himself breathing more easily once he got to work. The image of Ten’s nimble fingers intertwined with his own when Kun first woke up lingers. Something pulls painfully in his chest. Contentedness? Shame? Kun isn’t sure.

The feeling doesn’t quite go away.

Kun makes quick work of the rest of the ingredients - frying wide slices of firm tofu until golden, miso-glazed carrots, mushrooms, bok choy and pork belly, and some sweetcorn and the rest of the scallions for decoration. The noodles only take a few minutes before they're ready, and he uses this time to wash up.

‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made a couple different things,’ Kun explains. Hanging out in the lunch cafeteria and various coffee shops had opened his eyes to Ten’s picky nature regarding food. ‘There’s plain toast too, if you want it.’

‘Okay,’ Ten mumbles softly with his nose buried in his phone - the sound of cat videos bubbling out into the open space. ‘That sounds good.’

‘Is there something else? There’s granola, probably, and—’

‘_Kun_.’ Ten looks up from his phone. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ Kun notices himself smiling a little too widely and shakes the stiff expression off his face. He gets the message. It feels like an overstep, but oddly enough Ten doesn’t seem irritated. Grabbing his and Ten’s bowls quickly from the table, he turns back to the counter. 

It’s finally time to assemble everything. Kun pours a serving of rich-smelling broth and noodles in each bowl followed by the varied textures of the meat and vegetables. And for the finishing touch, he slices each egg in half before placing them on the toppings, balanced against the soft cushion of the tofu. Kun smiles at his handiwork - both eggs perfectly soft boiled and spilling with creamy gold.

If there’s one thing his mother taught him that he's carried with him, it’s the simple happiness of making a good meal.

Kun sets down a final bowl on the table in front of Ten. ‘There, that’s everything.’

Ten puts away his phone and leans forward to sniff the food. The aromas rising from all the different plates seem to clear the drowsiness from Ten’s eyes as he blinks and observes with wide eyes when Kun removes the lid from the fried rice and sausages.

‘Ugh, your whole personality is like if customer service was sexy,’ Ten moans absentmindedly.

Kun squints at Ten with fond exasperation. ‘And that does it for you?’ he snorts.

Ten doesn't get to answer before the front door slams shut and a dreadfully familiar voice calls loudly from the hallway outside the kitchen. A second later, Winwin appears in the doorway.

'Good morning Kun, my dearest friend!' Winwin beams, grinning with a worrying intensity that can only mean he's up to no good. '_Oh_,' he says then, gaze flickering to Ten who's frozen stiff halfway through scooping fried rice onto his plate. 'Do we have guests? I didn't realise, I'm so sorry for barging in like this.'

Ten gives Kun a panicked look that Kun can only return in equal measure.

'I'm Winwin,' he continues, and takes two long-legged steps into the kitchen until he's standing tall and scrawny above them by the edge of the table. Winwin leans forward to aggressively shake Ten's other hand that's not currently grasped around the chopsticks in a death grip. 'How nice to meet you. Let's see…classmates? Cousins? No? What's your name?'

Kun groans loudly. ‘I thought you were sleeping over at Minnie's place. And where’s Yukhei anyway? You guys are supposed to use the buddy system when I'm not there.’

Winwin turns his head to Kun and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. 'Aren't you happy to see me, Kun Ge?' he whines with feigned hurt.

'I'm Ten. Kun and I are in the same course, so…' Ten's mouth forms an o as he pauses in thought. 

A hollow beat passes between the three of them as they hold their breath in unison, waiting for the explanation for what Ten could possibly be doing in their kitchen at ass-o-clock, in what Winwin must now have realised are Kun's clothes. 

'_So_, we're having breakfast,’ Ten finishes in a rising tone.

Kun wants a chasm to rip the floor in two and swallow him whole.

But Ten seems to adapt fast to Winwin's quick-witted ways. Clearing his throat, Ten adds, 'Thanks for having me. Why don't you join us?'

That seems to appease Winwin. His dark eyes sparkle for a second as he smiles contentedly and straightens his back. 'Happy to have you.' Winwin picks up a sausage from the plate and gives Kun a pointed look as he takes a big bite of it. 'I'm gonna go wake up Yukhei. Baby handles his Hennessy so badly.'

Winwin stomps out the kitchen, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Kun lets out a deep sigh and turns to Ten. 'I'm sorry,' Kun says and rakes a hand through his hair as he tries to think of a solution. 'I wasn't expecting them to be here at this hour. If you just wanna eat a little bit and bolt, I won't be offended. They're…a handful.'

Ten slurps loudly around the noodles, and Kun's eyes trail along the soft creases that form beside Ten's nose like whiskers when he smiles. 'No, it's okay. It takes one to know one, anyway,' Ten winks. He pours two glasses from the jug of lemon water, and scoots one across the table to Kun. 'So don't worry, I can keep up.'

Kun nods uncertainly. But Ten is right.

As expected, Yukhei sits in mostly silence, swallowing down serving after serving. And Kun is glad that his habit of cooking huge amounts of food at once always does them good in this house. Yukhei blinks the fuzziness out of his eyes and squints drowsily at Ten at first, but then waves his big hand in greeting.

'Hello,' says Yukhei.

'Hello,' smiles Ten.

And that's that.

As expected, Winwin puts Ten in the hot seat. Head tilted like a serpent, Winwin asks question after question in an attempt at luring the details of who Ten is out of him, and Ten parries each and every insinuation with a non-committal answer pointing in neither direction. 

On the other side of the table, Kun feels himself sweating - and it isn’t from the spicy food. He shifts uncomfortably in the seat to turn his face away from Winwin's peering eyes, before realising that the bite mark on his neck is on the other side.

'Kun Ge,' Winwin calls teasingly. 'This ramen is so good. You never make this for us anymore, how come?'

Ignoring him, Kun rises abruptly. 'Ten, do you want an espresso?' he asks and saunters over to the expensive coffee machine at the far end of the counter, picking out a cup for himself. 'Winwin bought this one last summer. It's the only reason we haven't kicked him out yet.'

'It is,' Winwin admits proudly.

Ten breaks into a fit of laughter that Kun hadn't intended for, turning to snicker into Winwin's side.

Yukhei looks up at Kun over the edge of the bowl resting against his nose as he swallows down the last of his broth, and raises a big paw in the air. ’Ge, can I have one?'

‘Yeah,’ Kun sighs, and puts his hands to his hips. ‘Yeah, of course you can have one, Yukhei.’

What’s unexpected, on the other hand, is that Ten passes whatever psychological test that Winwin is conspiring to use as fuel for endlessly bullying Kun about the whole thing later. 

Meanwhile, Kun busies himself with sulkily chewing down big chunks of sausage while poking the scallions out of the rice into a neat pile on his plate. But it's difficult to mope in Ten's presence. He eats with great appetite - something which Kun takes an embarrassing amount of joy in watching. Ten munches on with squirrel-looking cheeks and licks his shiny lips while nodding at whatever dumb story that Winwin is currently telling him, the drone of which Kun has forcefully zoned out.

At one point Winwin turns to Kun, catching his small smile at Ten. Winwin raises a knowing eyebrow. Kun rolls his eyes.

The boys slowly clear the serving plates until nothing remains but the glossy finish of the oily bottom of the bowls. Yukhei gulps down two glasses of water in a minute, and the four of them settle wordlessly against the back of their chairs.

Winwin is the first to speak.

‘You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Ten. Kun is taking us all out for hotpot later.’

Kun chokes on water.

’I am?’ Ten and Kun cough out at the same time.

Yukhei takes initiative to help clear the table. Winwin is banished to the sink on dishwashing duty, while Kun dances around the kitchen, picking up glasses, plates, chopping boards and all the rest. Ten slinks in between and finds himself a spot on the far end with a towel in his hand, drying the dishes when Winwin hands them over. 

They move around the kitchen with an intuitive synchronisation, and when Kun steps away for a moment to check that the table is empty, Ten catches his eye. 

His head is thrown back in laughter at some snide comment by Winwin —a ray of sunshine coming through the window just then, catching Ten's piercings at an angle that makes them glint like fish scales in the light— and that's when it hits Kun.

That there's a place for Ten here.

If he wants it.

The soft pitter-patter of rain begins to tap at the window. Ten mumbles something, and glances at Kun over his shoulder.

Kun wants to kiss Ten.

He doesn't, of course. Giving Ten a weak smile back, Kun goes to check on Yukhei instead. It wouldn't be proper to do it in front of the others, even if they've both figured out the situation by now. But then Kun hesitates, wondering if he would have the courage or approval to kiss Ten out of the blue like that, even if it was just the two of them.

* * *

Ten’s position in Kun’s life is largely a series of almosts and maybes. 

They see each other more frequently after the hotpot incident. In retrospect, Kun wonders without coming to a conclusion which aspect it was that seemed to break down some hidden barrier between them. After that, study sessions after lectures turn into a quick coffee before class, weekdays turn into weekends, and the topic of conversation shifts into something more substantial. 

And sometimes Kun considers, selfishly, if it’s just him who feels like what they’re up to are just badly disguised study dates in place of something else. 

But then there are days when Ten doesn’t reply to Kun’s texts, dropping down on the chair beside him in class with his dark hood pulled all the way forward and face buried in his phone until the lecture starts. And even then, he doesn’t give Kun the slightest glance for a whole hour. 

It’s not until afterwards that Ten will pay him any mind, dragging him into the nearest bathroom and throwing himself onto Kun with a force that tears a cut in his lip. 

Kun will return whatever slick kisses that Ten presses against his mouth, but with his pelvis flush against Ten’s ass and a hand pulling roughly at his hair when Ten begs for it, Kun will look at Ten’s ecstatic expression in the mirror and ask himself if he’s allowed to feel left out in this moment. 

If - even as Kun is pressing into every corner of Ten, closer than anyone else is - he could maybe, perhaps, almost, kind of, be just a little closer. 

It’s like this that Kun comes to learn that whatever barrier that he manages to break between him and Ten, there’s always another one right behind it.

Moody Ten is also a hornier Ten, it seems. On the plus side, that means having him over at Kun’s place more frequently, and Kun does his best to handle the highs and lows in a sensible way. On some nights, Ten sleeps fully clothed in his jeans and hoodie, backpack ready by the door, and Kun knows that there are no words that can convince Ten that he’s safe tonight. It’s like he’s elsewhere already - body pulled into a tense bow and lying heavy under the covers, but mind somewhere far away. 

In the dim light of the bedside lamp, Kun can swear Ten looks nearly see-through. 

After the first time it happens, Kun extracts the explanation out of Ten with the utmost delicacy. And Ten speaks softly with simple words, like a child struggling to express the horrors of a nightmare; the dread of the monsters under the bed inexplicable in daylight. Ten explains honestly but with a particular kind of detachment which pulls painfully at Kun’s heartstrings, that sometimes he needs to know that he can run away if he needs to. That however bad things get, there is a sense of security in knowing you can put your shoes on and leave for anywhere else, even if it’s raining and you’ve got nowhere better to go. 

So the next time it happens, Kun is ready. Noticing how Ten has been unusually quiet all day, Kun pulls the textbook out of his lap and suggests watching an animated movie instead. He loves Ten on his knees, but he likes this Ten even more; pliant and sleepy with his head balanced against Kun’s shoulder. 

The movie lulls them halfway to sleep and it seems to ease the worst of the anxiety out of Ten, but halfway through the night Kun feels the soft curve of his body begin to tremble. He keeps Ten company through the worst of it, hugging him tightly as the shakes come and go, and whispering sweet nothings into his ear which Kun can only hope reaches Ten through the fog. 

Because he means every praise and word of affection that slips off his tongue in the dark, just as he means it in the day when he has to bite his tongue not to let them spill. 

Kun doesn’t know what it is that Ten is running from. 

There are times when he wants to ask, between fractured gasps moaned into one another’s mouth past midnight, or in the stillness between one song and the next. But when the music comes on again, the moment is gone.

Kun likes winter. Likes the slowing down of the days, how snow muffles the sound of traffic, and an added excuse to cook comfort food and force Winwin and Yukhei into watching cheesy seasonal movies with him. 

Or, Kun _would_ like winter, if it weren’t for the grime and salt eating away at the lacquer of his car, or the shitty weather forcing him to change the tires and wake up 30 minutes early just to escape the damn traffic jams downtown. 

Kun likes spring, too —except for when he doesn’t— the lilies only beautiful once the uncomfortable feeling of watching them claw through the ice fades away. And in the melting grey-ish slush sprouts the first grass, leaving another season in the past along with forgotten New Year’s resolutions. 

Kun likes the change of seasons, because it’s a forward movement. Always onward, away from the past. 

He likes summer, because the kids are happiest then. Plus, it’s good practice to make them appreciate the outdoors, so he tries to like it even more. And Kun likes autumn, because he likes liking things. It’s good for one’s digestion. 

On days when the weather beats him down flat to the bed, Kun imagines the pain concentrated down into the round pit of a fruit in his palm. He thinks of swallowing it whole and breathing deeply, letting it pass gently down his throat. Thinks of wiping his mouth with a big grin. He could down anything that way, from the spiciest of stews to mouthfuls of hurt; deep-seated resentment sizzling on his palate gulped down easily with just a little water. 

The snow comes again in January, and Kun likes that, too. It helps not to look back.

It’s with the same feeling that Kun finds himself consciously trying very hard to appreciate his and Ten’s thing. 

He’s mostly successful in this, because there are a lot of things to like. For example, the sex. Obviously, the sex. Kun doesn’t think he’s ever had sex this much or this good. 

Secondly, Ten happens to be great fun to talk to - when he makes an effort. There’s a vague theme connecting the on-and-off appearances of Happy, Nice Ten: post orgasm, sleepy, caffeinated, high, B-student, Sunday morning Ten. That’s the one Kun likes the most. 

It’s a good thing, too, that Winwin and Yukhei get off his back a little bit once Ten comes into the picture. Yukhei says Kun keeps to himself too much sometimes, even to his best friends, even though he shouldn’t. And Kun supposes that is true, but it’s not the full reason why he finds it difficult to talk about certain things. 

’Tell me about him,’ Yukhei says one night when the game show they’re watching cuts to the ad break.

Kun wants to pretend that it isn’t obvious who Yukhei is talking about. ’There’s nothing to say,’ he shrugs. And there isn’t, really. 

Because that’s the tricky part. One moment, Kun supposes that Ten spends time with him after class just to get better grades. And in the next, it seems like they’re hanging out just to fuck and fill the silence with something, as if Ten only tolerates him for long enough to get off. 

Both possibilities bother him, but Kun doesn’t feel entitled to a third option.

* * *

The sun is setting between the treetops when Kun’s phone vibrates on the desk. 

😼**TEN**  
**19:03** _quiz on the 24th ????_  
**19:03** _swear she hates me personally_  
(…)  
**19:04** _is it on chapter 8 also or just 7_

Kun eyes his open notebook, eyes the other students hunched over the nearby desks on the library’s quiet floor. Considers not replying. 

👽**KUN**  
**19:06** _Just chapter 7 haha_  
**19:08** _You in the library or something? I’m studying_

The bubble on the screen blinks, stops, blinks again. Kun puts his phone face down on the desk and manages to finish two whole exercises before it vibrates again. 

😼**TEN**  
**19:16** _no, at the studio_  
**19:16** _i’m on break, figured i’d pull out my notes and get a bit of studying done before i gotta go back_  
**19:17** _death to whoever invented statistics. ugh. _

And maybe this is Kun’s problem - trying too hard for people who won’t return the favour. He knows this, senses the red thread pulling at his wrist towards small and hurting things, rescue dogs and guilt trips.

But then he thinks about Ten sprawled out on the floor in his dance practice room, exhausted and sweaty, perched up against the wall with the same textbook in his hands that’s in front of Kun right now. Ten, who must be hungry and tired, who deserves a break and a scratch behind the ears, but who would never ask for it.

And Kun figures that it’s worth trying anyway.

Swallowing his pride, Kun packs up and heads down to the cafeteria below the library. He orders his usual coffee and the same for Ten - a tall vanilla latte with soy milk to go, and an Americano for himself. Getting into the car is a little difficult with both hands full, but he manages to balance one of the paper cups dangerously against his chest while he fumbles with the keys.

One time, after Ten had ended up staying over at Kun’s place even though it was only supposed to be a quickie to de-stress, Ten tumbled out of bed in shock when the alarm went off the next morning. Kun is still missing the socks that Ten took from him by mistake when he hurried to make it in time for dance practice - something which, at that point, Kun didn’t even know he was into.

Insisting that Ten would be late unless he drove him there, Kun finally managed to persuade him into the car. And trembling in the cold weather, Ten seemed thankful in the end to not have to wait outside at the bus stop. Kun had stayed in the sofa in the entrance area to the studio for the whole hour - even though he didn’t technically have to - but assuring Ten, or perhaps just himself, that he could study in the meantime and drop Ten off on the way to class afterwards. 

Ten is extra quiet that morning, and in the next few days he keeps mostly to himself. But Kun just takes that as a sign that Ten doesn’t like acting grateful or when things feel contrived, and Kun doesn’t blame him for that. Eventually the incident fades from memory, and Ten returns to his playful self.

Still, the ride over feels largely impulsive - the coffees nearly spilling in the cup holder as Kun makes his way past the traffic lights downtown. Swerving into the parking lot, the LED-lights spelling out the name of the studio glow through the slight fog that hovers above the empty cars parked outside.

The red numbers on the digital screen of the dashboard blink angrily at Kun when he turns off the engine. Practice should be over by now.

A minute passes.

Kun looks between the drink holder and his phone, checks the time on the dashboard, then checks his phone again for some getaway reason as his knee begins to bounce on its own. Should he wait inside? No. This was all a mistake. What was he thinking?

He steps out in the same moment as the front doors swing open. A couple people walk out, heading hastily to their cars. He counts to eleven heads before a familiar silhouette appears against the backlight. Ten walks side by side with someone who Kun doesn't recognise, because he has absolutely no idea what Ten gets up to outside the tiny fraction of time they spend together.

The two boys step to the side of the entrance and Ten leans against the metal railing, cocking his head to the side as he smiles at something that Kun can't make out from a distance. Ten makes a vague gesture with his hand, and the other guy reaches into his pockets in search of something. Caught in the wind, the guy's long hair flutters across his face. He's the same height as Ten, but there's something softer and more youthful in his features.

A warm fire flickers to life through the darkness, illuminating the sharp curve of Ten's jaw from below when the guy holds a lighter beneath Ten's chin, hands cupped around the cigarette perched between his lips to shield it. The light goes out again, and Ten turns his head to the side. A white cloud of smoke rises from his mouth as he exhales into the chilly air, breathing like a dragon in the night. The guy says something, a big smile on his face, and Ten buckles over as he cackles, pushing playfully at Funny Guy’s shoulder.

Kun decides that he hates cigarettes.

The frost seeps into his feet through the thin soles of his Vans. Kun looks down at the lukewarm coffee in his hand. 

He gets in the car and doesn't look back.

Ten calls him once, sexually frustrated and wasted on the other side of town, messing up the words but begging to come over, the pounding sound of electronic music in the background blasting through the phone. 

And Kun can’t deny him. Could never meet Ten’s glassy eyes and say no, even when he’s reeking of alcohol and Kun is unable to tell him why it makes his stomach drop cold. Because any overstep into Ten’s commitment-free space makes him slip further through Kun’s fingers. And there’s always the lingering threat of indifference, like shadow play on a wall, because Ten could have anyone he wanted with the quirk of a brow. 

So Kun takes everything Ten has to offer, but it feels like living on stolen time. 

With his back to the door, Ten falls slowly into a puddle on the floor. Under the thick layers of cotton and flannel, there are sinewy muscles and a self-assuredness that leaves Kun envious. But hunched over like that, Ten looks impossibly small; eyelashes fanning against his cheeks - puffy and pink - when he sniffles into the back of his hand, his knuckles cracked dry and red, a broken lip and a broken smile. 

Looking up at him, Ten laughs out at something that passes completely over Kun’s head. He drops to his knees, pulling at the zipper of Ten’s jacket and slowly helps undress him. They do that a lot together, it seems. Undressing. Kun peels away layer after layer, but something always remains. Dressed or undressed, Ten is never fully there. 

Always one headphone in, halfway through the doorway, on the move anytime anywhere; the first to call and the first to leave. 

But none of the other boys are as nice or as funny as Kun at Yuta’s parties, Ten tells him. No one else can touch him the way he needs it tonight. _None of them like you the way I do_, Kun thinks. 

Ten pukes in the toilet that night, and then in the shower drain when Kun helps him wash up, and Kun stays there for all of it, brushing the hair away from his sticky forehead. Ten apologises the whole night, feverishly rambling and head hanging low with shame when Kun tucks him into bed. 

’I’m sorry for coming here, I shouldn’t have,’ he whines. ’I’m sorry for promising to suck your dick and puking in the shower instead. I’m sorry for forcing you to help me like this. I’m sorry.’

Kun hushes him. ’You’re not forcing me to do anything.’ He sits down on the edge of the bed with a glass of cold water in his hand, nudging the blanket-covered shape. ’Here, drink this.’ 

’But I promised.’ 

Kun puts the glass away with a sigh. ’How about you promise to go easier on those shots and hydrate better next time.’

Ten quiets down eventually, his chest rising and lowering rhythmically under all the layers, and Kun settles behind him on the bed, breathing in the scent of soap and liquor. 

In the silence that follows, he counts the rows of shadows coming through the blinds, cast on the wall by the faint light from the street below. Kun assumes that he has fallen asleep when Ten’s voice breaks the quiet. 

’Are we going to talk about it at some point?’ 

Kun lifts his head in surprise. Is this it? Has Ten finally caught him in the act of looking at him for too long? Has he noticed the way Kun cares more than he should, more than they’re allowed to? 

The inside of his mouth feels dry like cotton. ’Talk about what?’ 

Ten speaks like he’s picking his words carefully, as if he’s scared of being scolded. ’About why you don’t drink.’

With his back turned to Kun, Ten wouldn’t know it, but Kun’s jaw falls slack. ’Yeah,’ he breathes. ‘We can talk about it someday.’

’Good,’ says Ten and lays his head on the pillow again. The whirr of the fan drones on, bouncing off the corners of the room. Ten stills, but Kun can tell there’s something else on his mind. ’And Kun?’

’Yeah?’ 

‘You know you can fuck other people, right?’ Ten whispers in the dark, and there is nothing left to second guess then.

’I know,’ Kun swallows.

Everything is always like that with Ten; one step forward, two steps back.

At the first red light, Kun’s phone goes off in the passenger seat. The car is standing still, but even so, he hesitates to answer the call. He glances over, the small screen blinks, and Kun’s stomach instantly drops at the sight of the caller ID. 

Reluctantly swiping right, he doesn’t need to hear the voice before knowing that something’s up. It’s past dinner time and Golden Girls is probably about to come on; a perfect excuse just as any other. Besides, it’s been seven years now. They say things usually get worse around the same time of year, when the anger flares up and unsettling memories knock on the door.

A shallow breath comes through the line before she even speaks, and Kun bites down hard on his tongue to stop himself from gagging as the smell of it fans across his face, somehow.

‘_Kun_,’ she says. ‘Where are you?’ 

‘College,’ he lies. 

‘Oh.’ 

There’s an odd lilt to his mother’s voice, something strained in her intonation that betrays her before the clink of wine glasses pierces through the buzz of the TV. Kun recognises the sound of his aunt in the background, her hoarse laughter like a crow.

He imagines the two of them in this moment, red faced and perched daintily in the sofa. Maybe they brought out the crystal glasses from the special cabinet, but there’s nothing nice or sophisticated about this. 

It’s sleazy, hushed whispers in the evening, stacked bills, missed calls, three boxes of Mandrarossa on the shelf below his little cousin’s empty cereal box. It’s poorly cleaned carpet stains, sticky countertops, and the pungent smell of shame trailing like salt down the hall to a closed bedroom door past noon, drawn curtains, the shape of a body on the bed in the dark, small and frail like a baby bird. And it’s the Aspirins on the bedside table, heavy perfume, apology gifts and an endless cycle of hiding away, making up, plastered smiles and pretending. Always pretending.

‘Can you pick up Yangyang? He was at school and… I can’t go Kun, I have to, there’s the — your uncle,’ she slurs. 

Kun doesn’t want to hear it. ‘Sure. I’ll go get him,’ he says and hangs up. 

It’s proper late now. At most, Yangyang might have stayed in school until 5, but by now he must have gone somewhere else, unless he waited around to be picked up. Fuck. Kun’s heart begins to race, head spinning. He should have have planned for this. 

Scrolling through his recent contacts, Kun taps Yangyang’s name. The stoplight turns green again, and he puts his phone on loudspeaker before tossing it to the side. The waiting tone beeps. 

Kun drums his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. _Pick up, pick up_. 

On the second left turn, the line sparks with a grainy rustle. 

‘Hello?’

Relief washes over Kun like a hot wave. ‘Hey, where are you? I can come pick you up. Auntie called.’

‘I’m with my friends,’ Yangyang answers brightly before pausing, and Kun can hear him hesitate. ‘Gege, don’t worry. We just went out to eat at Denny’s after school and now we’re at Jaemin’s house.’ 

‘Okay, okay. Good. I’ll come get you in a bit, okay? We can pick up something on the way home if you’re still hungry.’

‘Nice,’ says Yangyang. ‘Thanks!’ And the call drops. 

It’s a miracle that he turned out a good kid, really. 

It’s not a long drive over. Kun remembers dropping off Yangyang at Jaemin’s house for birthday parties when they were all still just kids, and later too, when they stopped calling them that out of pubescent embarrassment. He’s happy that his little cousin has such a tight knit group of friends that can be there for him when Kun is away. 

College has kept him incredibly busy over the past two years, and it’s been not only a great escape, but a genuine source of happiness to Kun. Getting closer to his dream career, making new friends, eating when and what he wants - just getting to be a normal person for a while. It can’t be overstated how badly Kun has craved that kind of stability. 

But it worries him that he can’t always look out for Yangyang. Kun texts him, a lot. Too much maybe. Drives him home from the cinema sometimes, because it’s a Friday night and the adults are drinking again. Kun doesn’t forget the little things. Everyone else seems to, and he wants to shield the kid from that knowledge for as long as he can. 

But with every summer that passes, the control escapes his grasp a little more. 

The glow of the city lights reflect off the window panes of the glass buildings that line the highway; broad streets ebbing out into smaller roads once the shape of familiar neighborhood houses come into view. He pulls up into the driveway outside Jaemin’s family house and turns off the engine. 

Closing his eyes, Kun breathes deeply and leans back against the headrest for a moment to gather himself.

His dad had left them when Kun was a teenager, so they had to move in with his aunt’s family to make ends meet. There was a lot of pent up rage at that - directed inwards in destructive ways - something which younger Kun didn’t know how to deal with. 

But as one autumn ended and another one came, things changed. Accidents turned into habits in front of Kun’s eyes, and growing up, he realised slowly that nothing is ever clear-cut. 

His mother had always been an alcoholic - way before he realised it. And not only did his aunt enable her in turn, but the kettle always boiled over on Kun, and more importantly, on Yangyang. Gawky and innocent Yangyang, who’s become a real little brother under Kun’s protective wing. 

So if Kun were to blame his dad for divorcing his mother, he ought to blame him for marrying her, too. But then he wouldn’t be here. And what good does bitterness do when you couldn’t have done anything different anyway? 

In the lull between the yellowing end of a joint and a fresh one, Kun stares up at his bedroom ceiling, and decides that if he can’t forgive his dad or his mother himself, then he’ll at least try to forgive them for Yangyang’s sake. 

For the sake of moving forward. 

Because it’s still his mother’s recipes that Kun cooks on rainy days, even though their broken relationship is only a series of charades masking as something genuine. It’s his dad’s timbre that echoes through Kun’s throat when he laughs, and when his mother peers resentfully at him in response and puts the teacup down on the table so hard that it spills, it might just as well be the hand of her mother in turn. 

Just as the statue is nothing without the clay that shaped it, everyone’s made of _something_. There’s no escaping that, Kun thinks. You just have to live with it. Plunge your hands deep in the cool, wet clay of a riverbank and grab a fistful of something else. Layer by layer, we shape new statues of ourselves when the old ones crack.

Jaemin’s mom is happy to see him, always bright and sweet just like her son. Kun feels himself relax into her touch like a wet dog when she strokes his cheek. It’s a sad way to live, bouncing between every warm thing he comes across, but it’s the only way he knows. 

‘You’re so tall now,’ she says. ‘Such a tall and handsome man.’ And Kun smiles, thanks her, tries not to think about his own mother in this moment. ‘The boys are in Jaemin’s room. Go on, they’ll be happy to see you.’

The tell-tale sounds of Street Fighter and shouting pauses when he knocks on the door. A thud and heavy footsteps follow - and Renjun swings the door wide open. 

‘Gege!’ he exclaims with a wide grin, throwing his arms in the air and stepping aside to let Kun in. ‘Am I allowed to be here this time or will you chase me off again?’

Kun laughs and ruffles his hair. He peeks into the teen mess of the sweaty room, and it feels oddly like home. ‘Of course you are. You know I’m just looking out for you guys. Didn’t want you to run into any weird types.’

‘Weird types like you?’ Donghyuck chimes in from the couch, chewing on a sour gummy. ‘It’s too late for that, your criminality has rubbed off on all of us already,’ he snickers and a wave of giggles ripples through the four other boys. 

‘Hey, I thought you little anarchists loved breaking the law. Weren’t you organizing some climate sit-in at school recently? So what is this,’ Kun gestures at the clutter of energy drinks, pillows and Nintendo controllers scattered all over the floor. ‘Taking a break from saving the world are we?’

‘Justice never sleeps,’ declares Jaemin solemnly with his eyes trained on the TV, and the others hum in agreement. 

Jeno motions toward the fast-paced action on the screen. ‘Do you wanna join us for a game? I’ve been practicing my combos all Christmas break, and I think I can finally beat you.’

’It’s true!’ Yangyang agrees from his corner of the sofa. ’He’s really good now. Today might really be the day.’

‘Ah, I don’t know.’ Kun begins to turn down the invitation, but immediately half of the boys stand up to aggressively offer their controllers to him, the rest shouting in unison. ‘Come on, come on!’ 

Arms pulled up to defend himself from the joysticks swung at his face, Kun nearly trips on a bottle of Coke by the door. ‘I’m sorry guys, but we really don’t have time. I’m just here to pick up Yangyang,’ Kun apologises, and Jeno hunches over to half his usual height when he pouts. ’Hey, don’t sulk. We’ll do it next time, okay? I promise.’ 

They groan in disappointment, plopping back into the depths of the sofa. It’s comforting to know that the kids haven’t completely forgotten about him yet, but he hates having to turn them down. 

He’s missed this. It used to be so easy. Kun remembers driving them to the white beaches out East, remembers having to break off heated fights over the aux cord in the car, campfires and marshmallows, and the feeling of being looked up to, of being needed.

They were so young then - still are, but it’s different now. The summer after his first year away, Kun came back to a lanky Jaemin who looked him square in the eyes instead of having to strain his neck. Jeno doesn’t ask for help with maths anymore. Renjun had managed to grow a full rat tail and then cut it off again, and Donghyuck is still Donghyuck. 

’Why do you have two?’ Yangyang asks once they enter the car. 

Kun shifts into first gear and glances quickly at his brother in the seat beside him. ‘Huh?’

Yangyang points to the abandoned coffees in the cup holder between them. ’Why do you have two drinks?’ he repeats, peering through the ginger strands of hair that fall over his eyes - and Kun remembers why he used to compare Yangyang to a fox; always too clever for his own good. 

’Ah, it’s uh, for you,’ Kun decides just then. 

Yangyang squints at the label. ‘But I don’t drink vanilla latte.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘I _hate_ soy milk,’ Yangyang continues. 

‘Okay, well,’ Kun throws up his hands in defeat. ‘I forgot, alright? Sorry, geez.’ If Yangyang’s sour expression is anything to judge by, he doesn’t believe Kun. Driving homeward, he sighs. ‘Chinese or Mexican takeaway?’

* * *

‘You need to get laid,’ Winwin tells him squarely one evening. 

Kun glances up from his phone to find Winwin observing him over the dinner table, and frowns, oblivious to what he could possibly mean by that. 

Because Winwin can’t be so dumb that he doesn’t understand why Kun brings Ten over to the house so late in the evenings, or why he doesn’t like it when Winwin shamelessly asks Ten invasive questions or begs to let him follow Ten on Instagram. (Ten says he doesn’t have it, Winwin pretends not to listen.)

‘Excuse me? Clearly I am getting laid,’ Kun counters defensively. 

‘Well, not good enough then, since you’re always moping around.’ Winwin nods at Kun’s phone and raises an eyebrow. ‘Look at you, you’re moping right now.’

‘What?’ Kun coughs out. ‘I don’t _mope_.’ 

Winwin rolls his eyes and turns to Yukhei, who sits hunched over and quiet like a mouse at the short end of the table. ‘Tell him,’ Winwin urges. 

Yukhei glances back and forth between Kun and Winwin with big, shaky eyes and slowly swallows the food in his cheek. Apologetically, he admits, ‘You kinda do mope.’

Kun cannot believe this. 

‘Look,’ says Winwin. ‘I’m saying this as your best friend, family and wife. Maybe it’s time to put your nice clothes on, go out and have some fun for once. See what happens. If you’re not fully satisfied with…well, whatever, then go find something new.’ In an uncharacteristic show of warmth, Winwin reaches forward to grab Kun’s hands in his own. ‘_Please_, I’m tired of seeing you unhappy. Your mopy ass drags your feet so loudly down the corridor that it’s leaving scratches in the flooring.’

It’s not funny, but Kun snorts. Mostly because he thought he was good at hiding things, but apparently no one thought to tell him earlier that he was a bad actor. 

‘Think about it. We’re going out at 10.’ 

After dinner, Kun falls head first into bed. There’s nothing stopping him from going out, so he doesn’t know why he feels so hesitant. 

Stretching his arm out across the space between him and the desk, he manages to tug the first drawer open and grab a pre-rolled joint. He rolls over onto his back in the bed, burning off the excess paper folded into a screw at the end of the joint as he thinks. A painful burn escapes down his throat as he inhales too deeply, and swallowing the smoke, Kun stares into the wall. 

Smoking had started as a test of boundaries once he went to college - a rebellious retaking of autonomy, in his mind, but less permanent than some shitty tattoo.

He likes it for a couple reasons, apart from the obvious shit. Chaperoning the others became an obvious duty, and an easy one at that. It took a while before Winwin and Yukhei put the puzzle together, noticing how Kun somehow stayed sober through month after month of frat parties. Although never driving while stoned, Kun always gets his friends home safely one way or the other, and the others appreciate never having to worry in such a big city. 

Only Kun sometimes wishes that someone would look after him, too. 

He pulls out his phone and clicks on the app store, thumb hovering over the name of the raunchy dating app that Winwin is always on. Taking another long hit, Kun exhales the smoke through his nostrils and taps the download button. He spends the next hour or so switching between trying on which jeans fit him best, swiping left, and burning down the joint into a sad, grey stump. 

The guys on there aren’t _bad_ looking, but nothing piques his interest. Left. Left. Maybe? Left. With a groan, Kun tosses away his phone and settles for a pair of black dress pants and his tightest white tee. Some hair gel later, and he looks positively fuckable. Sauntering into Yukhei’s room to watch them down some shots, Winwin proudly agrees with his outfit and pulls Kun into a hug.

Everything is so wonderful, Kun thinks, head spinning, when you’re in good company. 

The lights flash like shutters and the whole club bounces, the crowd going wild. The beat drums hard and fast against his temples, and everything is great. Winwin pulls on his wrist and Kun smiles, jumping with him. Somewhere by the bar, Yukhei is making out with a guy. Or, he was, anyway - it might have been an hour ago, Kun couldn’t tell. Everything feels oddly far away and he catches himself zoning out, as if watching his own body from the corner of the dance floor, even though Kun feels his sweaty limbs moving to the rhythm. 

And it’s wonderful that way; being empty and dumb and happy. 

Kun blinks, and he’s in the bathroom. The fluorescent light from the bulb above his head flickers as he gasps, squinting at the face in the mirror. One of the stall doors swing open and a man steps out, tall and handsome even in the grimy red glow of the room. 

‘Hello,’ says Kun and turns around, backing him up into the stall again. 

A slick tongue presses into his mouth. He cranes his neck, kisses back awkwardly. Claws at the guy’s neck to bring him in closer; pushes him away when he does. Doesn’t like how the shapes under his hands feel strange, something off and unfamiliar in what should be an intuitive thing. The guy drops to his knees to tug at Kun’s belt, and looking up then, Kun meets his eyes and feels himself deflate completely. 

Rising to his feet again, the tall stranger gives him a pitiful look and pats Kun’s shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s time to talk to him,’ he half smiles - leaving Kun to deal with the shame all on his own, head falling back against the dirty panel of the cubicle.

He doesn’t remember getting faded, but the comedown is there to greet him the next day anyway, like a concrete blanket pushing him into the mattress. But nothing beats the bone deep humiliation of it all. It keeps him bedridden the whole day, and it seems particularly ironic then, when Winwin promised this would solve all his problems. 

It doesn’t solve anything. In fact, Kun feels even worse. There’s a heavy implication wrapped up in it all, waiting to be found out, but he pushes the thought to the back of his mind because the weight of it seems impossible to handle. 

Instead, Kun buries himself in other things. Studying from morning to midnight, there isn’t much time to think between classes. He goes so far as to skip the lectures in his shared course with Ten - going against his own diligent principles. That feels good for a little while; not having to face the small reminders that make the shame and hurt bubble up again. 

However, there are two problems with that - the force of which soon hits Kun like a bulldozer, when he realises what exactly it is that’s happening. 

The first realisation is that in ignoring Ten, Kun unwillingly gravitates towards him with an even greater pull. In the absence of their back and forth bickering and Ten’s gleeful laughter, there’s a stale silence. It’s not a neutral emptiness, but a palpable one that leaves Kun on edge and stressed and itchy for something which he finds difficult to pinpoint. 

There’s a tension building inside his body, threatening to burst from within. And he doesn’t even have an outlet, now that he purposefully distanced himself from the one thing which kept him a little sane. Because apparently Kun can’t fuck other people - not like Ten, for whom it’s laughably easy - and now he can’t fuck Ten either. He would like to believe that he’s not the obsessive type, but left to his own devices, Kun can’t even make it a day without thinking about him. And there comes the second realisation. 

It hits him then that without the hookups or the study sessions, the thing that Kun misses the most which keeps him coming back, desperate for a fill to soothe the craving, is neither of the options; but the third one. The hidden, humiliating, impossible third answer. 

Because it’s not sex that Kun misses the most. Alone and lonely in his bed, Kun thinks of the perfect slope of Ten’s nose from the side when he isn’t looking; the twinkle in his eyes when he does. 

And just like that, Kun comes to the mortifying conclusion that he is completely, undeniably, head over heels in love with Ten. 

There are times when he almost believes that it could be reciprocal - like when Kun complains that Ten’s mouth tastes ashy from cigarettes and refuses to kiss him, and Ten quits in three days. But remembering all the other people that Ten is seeing, Kun has to remind himself that Ten isn’t and cannot be his. 

He goes back to class the day after, partly so he won’t get into trouble for missing attendance, but mostly to make sure of something. As Kun walks into the room - two minutes before they’re due to start - he sees Ten sitting there in the same spot as always, and his heart sinks, and Kun knows for sure.

The saddest thing of all, apart from being hopelessly in love with Ten, is that Kun doesn’t even have the self-respect to distance himself from him. 

‘Not that you asked, but I’ve had a terrible week,’ says Ten after class, nose high in the air. ‘You would have known if you’d replied to me. Can’t you show some decency, replying to a dying man’s booty call text, huh? Were you really so busy jerking off into your own hand that you couldn’t get a piece of this?’

‘Fuck you,’ Kun spits. 

Ten grins. ‘Yeah,’ he says. 

Stepping outside onto the salted asphalt, Ten kicks a piece of gravel across the parking lot. The wind blows the hair out of his eyes when he turns to Kun. It’s getting long. 

‘I’m gonna go home,’ he says. ‘You should come with me.’ Ten looks down into the ground for a brief moment, and when he looks up again, there’s something different in his voice. If Kun wasn’t rational, he would have mistaken it for vulnerability. ‘Make it better for a little while. Make me forget.’

Kun wants to forget, too. 

He’s so wrapped up in the rush of endorphins that flood his system when they get through the front door to Ten’s apartment and Kun finally gets to kiss Ten again, that he doesn’t consider paying attention to anything inside. Kun doesn’t know if someone else is home. And he doesn’t care either, as he pins Ten against the wall in the hallway and presses his mouth to his. Ten bucks up against Kun’s knee pushed up between his legs, grinding into it, and smiles wider the harder Kun presses him into the wall. 

‘Take me to the bedroom,’ Ten breathes into his mouth, but makes no move to push Kun off. 

Kun grips his sweatshirt in a tight bundle of fabric and searches for something in Ten’s eyes, but there is only hunger, and need, perhaps. ‘What if I fuck you right here?’ Kun asks in earnest, because he needs to hear Ten say it. 'Would you stop me?'

Ten doesn't answer his question, just laughs into his face. ‘Hm, I think I like it when you’re angry,’ he muses, a dangerous smile ghosting across his face. ‘Really makes a guy all hot and bothered.’

‘Is that it? You wanna rile me up so I’ll throw you around for a bit?’ He reaches out to stroke along Ten’s clavicle, fingers just barely pressing down around his throat. ‘I don’t need to be angry to do that. Is that what you want - for me to hold you down and fuck you dumb?’

‘Yes.’ Ten’s pupils flicker. ‘That’s what I want.’

It goes downhill from there, like it often does. 

Ten whines the whole time that Kun opens him up with his fingers. He cries out loudly, lips slick with spit, and tries to muffle himself against Kun’s shoulder, open-mouthed against the skin there as he spreads his knees wider in Kun’s lap and begs for more. 

Finally pushing Ten back against the bed once he’s desperate enough, Kun rummages through the bedside table. Ten watches on with glassy eyes as he pulls out a strip of condoms and some lube, and peering into the shadows of the drawer, Kun takes out what seems to be a cock ring - the shiny metal cold between his fingers. Turning it over in his hand, Kun puts it back, but the flush on Ten’s cheeks doesn’t escape him. 

‘Get on your stomach,’ Kun says. 

Ten complies obediently, rolling over and pushing himself up on his knees. He arches his back down low and gasps suddenly when a smack echoes through the room as Kun lets his palm snap experimentally against the soft skin of Ten’s right cheek. The vertebrae along his back snake as Ten inhales sharply on the impact. He breathes out again and falls forward, pressing his chest against the mattress and tilts his head to the side. Looking up at Kun like that, Ten smiles weakly. ‘You can go as hard as you want.’

And later, when Kun is fully buried inside and pistoning into him at an unrelenting pace, Ten still pushes back up for more. He moans pornographically, drooling messily into the sheets, and Kun thinks it must be on purpose to spur him on. It makes him irritated for some reason, so in a way it works.

With both palms pushed down against Ten’s shoulder blades to keep him still, Kun is glad that he can’t see his face. It’s better like that if Ten just wants to forget, and if Kun is to pretend. 

But Ten mewls on, and a wave of emotions rip through Kun - dark and sticky, churning away painfully inside his chest - and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to call it envy or jealousy. It keeps coming back to him; the image of Ten breathing white pillars of smoke into the black night, of Ten laughing and touching other people, and images of Ten with other boys, boys who aren’t Kun.

In a moment of despair, he pulls out, ignoring the tug of pleasure coiled deep in his stomach as he flips Ten over. Ten blinks at him, his pupils blown wide open and glancing at Kun’s lips. Again, Kun wants to kiss him. Again, he doesn’t. Just grips the back of Ten’s knee with one hand, and the base of his own cock with the other. When he presses the blunt head against Ten’s rim and eases inside again, slowly slipping into the tight heat, Ten lets his head fall back between his shoulders. A string of incoherent mumbles roll off his tongue, and Kun lets himself be loud, too. 

The new position seems to be helping at first - watching Ten’s eyes roll back when Kun sinks into him again and again. Everything feels deceptively perfect like that, with Kun moaning loudly as the pleasure sends sparks through his body, and Ten pliant and beautiful underneath, legs spread wide for him and face caught in a moment of bliss. 

‘Come on,’ Ten gasps. ‘Fuck me like you mean it.’

And suddenly the anger bubbles up again, three times as strong. 

Kun wants to tell him to _shut the fuck up_, because Ten doesn’t understand how badly Kun is hurting. Or he does, and lets Kun fuck him anyway, which is even worse. 

Ten reaches down to tug at his leaking cock, but Kun slaps his fingers away and wraps his hand around Ten’s wrists, pushing them above his head. ‘Keep them there,’ Kun orders. ‘Keep them there like a good whore.’

Wordlessly, Ten does as he says. His ignored dick flops against his abdomen as Kun rocks into him, a pearl of pre-cum trickling down the shaft. 

‘Tell me how good I’m fucking you,’ Kun hears himself saying, and it makes his eyes tear up, but Ten won’t look at him.

Eyes screwed shut and jaw falling slack, Ten tells Kun in a mantra exactly how good he fucks him, better than anyone else can, and Kun wants to believe him, he really does. Ten comes untouched, shaking violently through it and spilling thick ropes of cum against his stomach, right as Kun’s orgasm rolls through him. 

In the aftermath, Kun averts his eyes when he grabs one of their t-shirts off the floor to wipe the release from his abdomen. Ten breathes shallowly behind his back. 

‘Thanks,’ Ten mumbles. ‘I needed that.’ And Kun honestly doesn’t know if he’s joking. 

So, they’re back where they started; neither one daring to say the necessary words. It feels like he’s looking at Ten through the glass window of a fish tank, but he isn’t sure who’s underwater, who’s drowning.

Kun hums and throws the dirty cloth to the side. It flops down beside Ten, who glances at it, and then at Kun. Instead of helping clean him up, Kun reaches for his jeans, figuring that Ten doesn’t need that from him. 

Ten picks it up and makes a half-hearted attempt at wiping the cum from the sheets. ’You only ever think about yourself,’ he spits out offhandedly - half meaning it, perhaps, half not. 

Kun glares right back at him. ’And who else am I supposed to think about?’ he asks, voice nearly breaking. It feels like Ten sees right through him when he meets his eyes, but Kun doesn’t care anymore. 

The tension in the air threatens to rip apart the membrane separating all the double meanings they always dance around, the fabric of the big lie they spun together stretched thin. The challenge is out in the open - _say it now if you mean it, or say nothing at all_. 

Ten’s lips pull into a tight line as he looks away, and Kun longs for March.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! let me know what you thought/felt in the comments 
> 
> special thanks to Yaya for the delicious food suggestions haha i was so hungry while writing
> 
> **[twitter](https://twitter.com/tentwigs)** || **[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tentwigs)**


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